Do you get a gay vibe from me?
by thelesbianvirgo
Summary: Olivia Benson comes to a stunning realization as Amanda Rollins confronts some past demons. Eventual Amanda/Olivia pairing. Slow-burning; this will be a longer story. Trigger warnings and rated M for a reason! Takes place after "Chasing Demons" (19x14). Noah and Jesse do not exist in this fanfic. My first fanfic ever - please leave reviews!
1. Chapter 1

Lieutenant Olivia Benson's long limbs are splayed out all over the couch in her apartment; she is clad in a wrinkled, loose tee shirt and a blue pair of boy shorts. A crisp, winter wind whips against the large windows, threatening to shatter the strong glass at any moment now. The brunette has been awake for over an hour, but hasn't been able to motivate herself to move even an inch. It's just past the crack of dawn on this dreary Saturday morning; Olivia silently curses herself for failing to sleep in yet again, as she has just awoken in a panic stemming from another nightmare about William Lewis, her jaw still aching from grinding her teeth all night long. She scrubs her face in an attempt to rub the exhaustion out of her eyes with no luck. The sleepy woman reluctantly lifts her head from one of her stiff throw pillows and averts her gaze up through the windows and toward the sky, where she is immediately greeted with the sight of small snowflakes dizzying around, like materials in a shaken snow globe. "Ugh," she mutters quietly to herself, as she softly places her head back down onto the pillow, loose dark strands of soft hair littering its surface area, and tightens the cocoon of multiple fuzzy blankets around her quivering body to protect her from the seemingly never-ending frigidness of winter in the city.

She is exhausted in every sense of the word: physically, mentally, and emotionally. Her case load at work has been at an all-time high lately, or so it seems; nightmares are keeping her awake when she should be slumbering peacefully; to top it off, it has been less than a week since her historically unpredictable and chaotic ex-lover, Brian Cassidy, showed up to her apartment in the middle of the night, wasted and hiding from the police in fear of being accused of murdering a rapist. As if all of this wasn't enough, Cassidy had admitted to Olivia that she was the great love of his life, which had her completely taken aback; she enjoyed spending time with Cassidy, but it was far from love. Shortly after his confession, Cassidy flat-out asked her to admit that she was never going to "bare her soul" to him, and that's why it didn't work out between the two of them.

Cassidy was right, and Olivia let him know that. She cannot fathom "baring her soul," whatever that means, to him. In fact, she can't imagine herself opening up to any man in that way anymore; the only man she would have let have every piece of her was Elliot Stabler, who, to put it simply, shattered her young and naïve heart. So much has changed since he left; the pain has finally healed as much as it ever will. As Olivia continues to reflect, she realizes how much time and energy she has spent chasing the wrong men, desperately trying to fill the massive hole that resides deep inside of her chest. As of late, she is positive she doesn't want to be with another man for very long time—maybe even forever. As soon as this thought ends, an image of Amanda Rollins, the youngest detective on her squad, slams itself into her brain. The lieutenant is instantly greeted with a wave of nausea that is rapidly climbing up her throat. She mentally banishes the image of her younger, blonde, toned, quirky, funny, brilliant, but also infuriating, stubborn, bratty, dramatic detective from her mind as she swallows the foul-tasting bile. Amanda Rollins has given Olivia more headaches within the past few years than anyone else combined; yet for some reason, she finds herself yearning to be closer to her. Olivia shivers with fear, still working to banish the unwanted thoughts, and reminds herself that she is dedicated to work; she is dedicated to giving all of the love she has in her heart to the victims she deals with on a daily basis. _They_ are the ones who deserve her soul.

It is nearing 8 a.m. now, and Olivia decides she needs to get ready for the day, even though she doesn't have any plans. She sloppily removes her lower limbs from the cushions, and places her cold feet onto the even colder hardwood floor. After almost toppling over with sleep-deprivation as she makes her way to the bathroom, she catches a glance of herself in the mirror. The deep stains of purple underneath her eyes, her unruly, untweezed eyebrows, and oily skin are enough to make the bile she had previously forced down threaten to make a reappearance. "Jesus," she remarks. She cups her hands together underneath the tap and splashes some icy water onto her already frozen face, wincing at how hard the cold bites her.

Not wanting to be in front of a mirror for any moment longer than absolutely necessary, Olivia hurriedly decides to swish some mint-flavored mouthwash around in her mouth for a few seconds, strangles her hair up into a messy bun, and then resorts to her bedroom to change into some yoga pants and a comfortable sweater. As if she doesn't have enough restlessness coursing through her system, she feels her heart come to a halt when she realizes her tiny, gold bar necklace isn't around her neck. She scrambles to locate the item, knocking over the alarm clock on her nightstand as a result. The frenzied older woman speedily recalls that she took it off before showering last night. Her jaw instantly unclenches as she pinpoints the object lying on top of her unorganized dresser. She runs the chain through her hands for a moment—savoring the memories and the sense of peace it contains—before tracing the engraved word, "FEARLESSNESS," across her fingertips.

She finds herself wishing she wasn't alone while feeling like this—her companion need not even be human—a cat or dog would do. She quickly washes this thought from her mind, however, and reality sets in: she is far too busy and not home enough to take good care of a furry friend.

The sun is struggling to peek through the snowy clouds as the older woman pours herself a bowl of Cheerios and a cup of coffee. She settles down at the kitchen table, _The New York Times_ in front of her, reading glasses perched atop of her nose, and her feet, now covered with fuzzy socks, resting comfortably upon a parallel chair. She feels the lingering anxiety slowly fading away as she delves into the "Arts" section of the paper, not even bothering to take a look at the local or world news today.

Her momentary release from anxiety is quickly interrupted as soon as she hears her iPhone vibrate; alerting her that she has a text message. Her shoulders clench up high toward her ears and the nervousness floods back into her bones as she glances at the words flashing across the screen: 1 iMessage from Amanda Rollins.


	2. Chapter 2

The younger detective that Olivia so coldly used to call "Rollins" is currently and very stubbornly fighting against the weather at Central Park as she is running with her beloved dog, Frannie. Amanda allows for a slight, boastful smirk to sneak across her face, proud of herself for being able to handle the miserable and everlasting snow and still maintain some semblance of warmth. She is huddled underneath many layers: a fuzzy, sporty jacket over a new drawstring hoodie, yoga pants that are glued to her pale, sticky skin, and her ears snuggled underneath a thick Nike headband. Completely out of breath, Amanda decides to stop underneath a tree with large branches to shield Frannie and herself from the snow. The younger detective removes her right thumb from her glove for only a split second to unlock her phone with her fingerprint. "Son of a bitch," she whispers, disappointed and frustrated that Olivia has still neglected to text her back, the time now close to noon.

"Frannie," Amanda implores to her fatigued dog, knowing just how she appears to the few other people braving the cold weather today, "do you think Liv is still sleeping? She would never sleep in this late. Usually she texts back right away." Frannie's body jolts in alarm as she looks up to meet her owner's worried face; her big, brown eyes shifting from startled to concerned. "Frannie," the younger woman adds, "do you think she's ignoring me? I know I was a pain to deal with last week—I was just worried for her—I swear my motives were clear!" She goes on, "I thought we were okay—everything seemed normal at work after Cassidy left—God, I hope she's okay—God, what I would do if something happened to her?"

Amanda has secretly felt frustrated with her boss since last week; a sharp contrast with the pure infatuation she held for Olivia even before leaving Atlanta and moving to New York to work with her, and the unabated crush that formed the first time they met. It could be a tinge of jealousy still dwelling within her since Olivia just so recently dated and broke up with Tucker, but the younger woman is feeling nothing short of judgmental for how lovingly Olivia treated Cassidy when he abruptly decided to plunge back into her life as soon as he messed up his own again. Frannie is now currently pacing back and forth as much as her leash will allow, taking turns between sniffing the snow-covered roots of the tree and nudging her cold, wet nose against Amanda's calves; she is quite obviously feeling impatient with her owner, who is physically present, but miles away mentally.

"Hold on, girl, Mama's thinking…" Amanda verbalizes, before drifting off into the depths of her latent memory yet again, eyes opened but glassy, staring out into space. Frannie whines gently, and then promptly decides to take up residence on the snowy ground, spreading her paws wide in a stretch before drifting off into a light slumber, anticipating that her mother will be "thinking" for quite some time.

Amanda just can't seem to wrap her head around why Olivia felt the need to help Cassidy. They broke up; she moved on; it should be as simple as that. Amanda doesn't speak to any of her exes, let alone allow them to stay at her place while they're possibly wanted for murder. The only ex she would ever consider speaking to again is the endearing Declan Murphy; although she never loved him, Amanda feels connected to Murphy in a sense that he just _gets her_. Even if he did pop back up, though, she would probably do what she does best: ignore it and wait for it to go away.

The younger detective briefly chastises herself for allowing her thoughts to gravitate toward such judgment, but she can't help it. She is precipitously reminded of what her sponsor from Gambler's Anonymous (GA) always says to her, in that shrill and omniscient tone: "we can't control our first thought; only our second thought, and therefore our actions." Amanda awakens out of her daze from the sound of her own voice angrily mocking her sponsor's words.

A fleeting consideration of dropping Frannie off at home and sprinting as fast as she can to the nearest casino unwelcomingly projects itself into the younger detective's already spinning mind, but she wards off this thought by using her sponsor's relentless suggestion she was mocking only moments prior. It has also been four long years since Amanda has stepped foot into such an establishment, or gambled at all, and she is not willing to let a coward such as Brian Cassidy break her hard-earned sobriety. Amanda knows she should be calling, or at least texting her sponsor to let her know how she is feeling, especially since the thought of gambling so freely entered her mind, but she just _really_ doesn't feel speaking to another human being today, unless that human's name is Lieutenant Olivia Benson.

Amanda decides that she needs to keep running. She needs to run even faster than before. "Sorry Frannie—we're going to head back out soon—hope you're prepared to pick up the pace!" she states to the now deeply slumbering dog, without even noticing that she is straight up talking to herself. The younger detective blinks her eyes rapidly to remove the effects of staring into the cold for so long; she reaches into her jacket pocket, and removes her thumb from her glove one more time to see if she has any missed texts or calls or emails or social media notifications from Olivia. Nothing.

"Fuck," she mutters, "Frannie, let's go." The peaceful animal needs a short moment to gather her bearings before she is out-of-her-mind excited again, tail wagging, tongue out, panting with enthusiasm to start running again. They run through the rest of their usual loop, Amanda's legs pumping furiously, snow beating off of her clothing, sweat dripping from her pale forehead onto her swelling lips, until they are finally back home.

The time on Amanda's still empty iPhone reads 4:04 p.m. She has showered, changed into a fresh pair of yoga pants and a clean hoodie, and has spent the remainder of her afternoon attempting to stress-clean her apartment from top-to-bottom, with many intervals of checking her phone that is now set at full volume in-between. Frannie is clearly exhausted from the intense remainder of their run; she is now resting comfortably atop Amanda's lap on the worn-out couch that is plagued with copious amounts of dog hair.

The anxiety threatening to overcome Amanda's entire being is rising at an alarming rate. She pushes Frannie's head aside and strides toward the kitchen. "It's 5 o'clock somewhere, right?" Amanda shamefully mutters to herself, as she pulls out a stale bottle of beer from her barren fridge. She gulps down as much liquid as she physically can, feeling the cold yet disgusting substance falling down her gullet and into her stomach, providing her with an effortless sense of relief. "Shit..." she mutters, "I should probably eat someth-" and immediately cuts herself off as her eardrums are pierced with the sound of her phone screeching. She is so thrilled that she nearly drops the bottle out of her hand as she struggles to get to her phone, which is now so inconveniently placed across the apartment.

The screen is still lit up when she arrives. The blonde detective lets out a heavy sigh she wasn't aware she was holding, when she sees Fin's name splattered across the screen. "FUCK! What the fuck!" she screams, awaking Frannie, who is already coming to her owner's rescue. Blinking through the frustrated tears falling from her already swollen eyes, the younger detective is able to decipher Fin's message:

"Hey girl, what you up to tonight? Carisi and I are both single and lonely and have nothing to do. It's Saturday. Please don't make me spend the entire evening alone with him."

Amanda's mind immediately floods with the suggestions from the people in GA: "if you feel like isolating, you need to be around people." "God dammit," she mutters, as she reluctantly texts back, still resolute with the fact that she will not allow someone like Brian Cassidy to jeopardize her sobriety.

"Where should I meet y'all?"


	3. Chapter 3

It is close to 7 p.m. on the cheerless Saturday evening; Olivia and the darkening sky coordinating in perfect unison. The usually mature and confident older woman has felt ill all day, due to waking up from disrupted sleep in a panic, and far too early; her anxiety continuing to skyrocket throughout the course of the day and consequently sending her into a paralyzed state after receiving an unexpected text from Amanda Rollins:

"Hey Liv, sorry to bother you on a Saturday, but I need to speak with you. Text or call me back when you get the chance."

It is a minute and uncharacteristically professional text from the younger woman; at first, Olivia had an arduous time wrapping her head around why had it caused her to spin out and become totally imprisoned in fear; she also felt guilty for not responding, but she was, and still is, both emotionally and physically inept.

The hidden sun is beginning to set beneath the impenetrable clouds as Olivia is coiled into the fetal position inside of her bathtub. Her aching body has been tangled in a giant knot for hours now, her ass tender from the constant pressure of the porcelain container, knees drawn so near to her face that her chin has jammed into the bones, resulting in an unattractive imprint, and her arms wound so tightly around the lower extremities, like her life depends on it. The water has grown cold, but Olivia struggles to care, or reach her hand out less than a foot to turn the hot water back on, for that matter. She lets out a heavy sigh, desperately wishing she could chalk up her actions to the anxiety induced by her nightmares, as she has done so many times before—but today, something feels different.

Finally, after seven long years of knowing the paradoxically infuriating yet remarkable Amanda Rollins, Olivia feels a hint of motivation to self-examine, and allows herself to drown in uninterrupted thoughts.

Somewhere deep inside of her, the lieutenant has made the first few steps in identifying why she was originally so callous toward Amanda when she had first arrived to Manhattan's Special Victims Unit from Atlanta. As soon as they met, Olivia did everything in her power to construct a strong, metaphorical wall around Amanda, desperate to create as much distance as possible between herself and the much younger, noticeably attractive woman. At first, Olivia even refused to call Amanda by her first name: "Rollins" was supplemented instead.

The older woman is welcomed by a touch of shame; shuttering at the fact that Amanda had been so enthusiastic to not only get out of Precinct 8 for reasons Olivia had yet to discover, but to also finally have the opportunity to work with the woman she claimed as her idol.

Olivia has been consistently adamant about not allowing thoughts like these to creep up to the surface for as long as she can remember, and right now, she learns why. She simultaneously swallows a wave of persistent nausea and the urge to push away the sadness spilling off of her. She briefly relaxes, and permits herself recall a certain case that involved the unnerving Babs Duffy—a case that ended so many years ago now—back when Elliot was still her partner. Babs was an "out and proud" woman fighting for lesbian rights, who ended up hitting on her. Olivia feels like a truck has slammed into her perspiring forehead when she distinctly remembers asking Elliot, verbatim, "do you get a gay vibe from me?" Not surprised by her question, either because of the nature of the case, or a rising suspicion, he answered, "Would it matter if I did?"

"Mmm," she speaks aloud, startled by her own sudden vocalization. She shakes her head softly and continues thinking. Determined to get to the bottom of things, the older woman authorizes herself to ruminate on Babs for a bit longer. She reminiscences about the sudden, forced kiss that the uncanny, red-haired woman pushed onto her credulous lips. Olivia is now unable to maintain control of emotions, and her tear ducts, when she feels the weight of a thousand trucks now slamming into her at full speed: _she kissed the woman back_. The truth is, that was the first time she had ever kissed a member of the same sex. She mentally chastises herself for how prude she has been for the past fifty years, never allowing herself to act on impulse. Maybe, she quietly thinks, if she would have kissed a female back when she was only a girl herself, she wouldn't be dealing with the intense confusion she is so passionately feeling right now.

While all of her girlfriends were drunkenly hooking up with each other at parties in college, Olivia only allowed herself to drink a beer or two; the reason being to keep an eye on her companions, and, perhaps more truthfully, much too afraid to see what would happen if she chose to let loose. She always had a boyfriend to bring to such parties, anyways, and even back then, she'd be damned if a perverted member of the patriarchy were to get off on her hooking up with a girl for fun. Olivia's brain whirls back to Babs, and she tries to think of a good reason why she kissed her back in the first place. After a short amount of time passes and the frustration starts gnawing at her core, she feels like she's grasping at invisible straws. "Okay," she mutters aloud, "that's enough truth for today." She makes some progress in untangling her severely sore body as she simultaneously pulls the freezing chain of the universal plug from the drain. Her naturally mysterious, dark eyes are glazed over with exhaustion and stifled tears as she waits for all remnants of her breakdown to swirl away; she watches and wishes the drain could suck her entire body down alongside the cold, dirty water.

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As she is rolling her soaking wet hair into a towel, clad in her favorite purple bathrobe and another pair of fuzzy socks, Olivia decides to take another look at her phone. She scans through various work email notifications, shamelessly clearing each one individually as she scrolls, and finds herself ever so slightly hoping to see another iMessage from Amanda. She has received a message, but it's from a friend, inviting her out for a glass of wine tonight. She ponders comprehensively for a moment—figuring she should probably leave her apartment at least once today—before reluctantly obliging. Although she feels no attraction, he is of the male sex; just the thought of this detail casts a sense of safety over her brutally vulnerable mind, and, to be perfectly honest, she really needs a drink.

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The tall and attractive detective looks as beautiful as ever after she is done getting ready for her evening out; any hint at her current state of physical and mental exhaustion has been completely obliterated by a heavy coat of makeup.

Her eyelashes are coated in thick, black mascara; dark eyeshadow painted over her eyelids with a thin line of eyeliner to match; copious amounts of foundation laid to cover the deep purple rings that have taken up what seems to be permanent residence underneath her eyes; blush spread evenly over the rest of her previously sunken-in cheeks; her shoulder-length, dark, brown hair left down and wavy.

The off-duty lieutenant has dressed herself in a pair of tight, low-rise, dark-stained jeans and a starched, black button-up shirt to match, which reveals a tasteful bit of cleavage; coordinating black heeled booties on her feet; her gold "FEARLESSNESS" necklace adding a pop of color to her unintentional, dark exterior. Though it feels somewhat forced, she can't help but become slightly giddy when she is reacquainted with the familiar sense of confidence she is used to feeling when she takes a look at herself in the full-length mirror. Olivia feels a smile tugging gently at both corners of her mouth as she bundles herself up in a winter coat and a pair of thin, black, touchscreen gloves. She decides to take the stairs down to the lobby of her building, and braces herself for the frigid winter temperature as she steps outside to hail a cab, firmly intent on working on "letting loose," and indulging in far more than just a glass of wine tonight.

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Olivia hands a wad of cash to the cab driver once they have reached their destination, and carefully steps onto the slush-covered sidewalk. She is now brimming with some much-needed credence as she begins her short journey toward the bar.

Totally focused on NOT getting lost in her own thoughts for the remainder of the night, Olivia is suddenly made aware of a muffled voice perplexingly calling her name. Due to her years as a detective, it does not take her long to locate where the voice is coming from; it belongs to a young, blonde female, right in the middle of lighting a cigaratte that is now hanging lax between her lips, leaning with one foot pressed up against the building.

" _Amanda_ ," she gasps.


	4. Chapter 4

With her cigarette now laying in the dirty slush on the cracked sidewalk after being thrown down in anger, the blonde detective continues to react with an apparent drunkenness as she wobbles toward her boss.

"Really, Liv? Couldn't find a minute to reply to my text?" she slurs, her voice laced with irrefutable agitation after she mentally confirms that Olivia _has_ been ignoring her all day; robust feelings of disappointment and anger rising to the surface when she further realizes she has spent time worrying about someone who _still_ doesn't respect her feelings, even after all of these years of her effort to build a cordial relationship. "What the hell, Liv," she accidentally continues to blurt out; the words rolling off of her tongue faster than her brain can catch up. "Shit," she instantaneously corrects, after realizing that she _is_ speaking to her superior, "I'm sorry."

Olivia is frozen solid; her eyes spread wide in dread and emulating the color of coal, as if she has just been caught in the act of committing a deviant crime. She gradually lifts her hands up into the air as if to appear innocent, a secret panic ebbing from the tip of her crown down to her toes that are now smushed against the tips of her black booties.

There is an awkward silence now swimming within the air between the two distressed women; a silence so thick that either one of them could slice it in half with a butter knife, if she so pleased. The only audible sounds come from passing vehicles and Amanda's heavy pants of rage. Olivia has yet to take a breath herself; too busy trying to slam down the intensifying horror, and simultaneously trying to fill herself up with defensiveness.

"Good evening to you too, Rollins," the older detective finally pronounces with a trace of crass, "funny running into you here." The blonde says nothing, her head buzzing with embarrassment and the ongoing effects of the copious amounts of alcohol she has already indulged in, trying to maintain composure as her forehead shimmers in the light produced by a streetlamp; tiny beads of sweat popping up from beneath her skin, despite the freezing temperature outside.

Abruptly, and not realizing he has just interrupted a potential war-zone, Carisi swings the door of the bar open with a bang, and continues to jog toward the two stoic women standing outside of the building. "Hey, Lieu!" he states with excitement, "I'm glad you could make it! I was just coming to check on Amanda, Fin is also inside," he snorts, "trying to drink his singleness away."

"Carisi," Olivia remarks peevishly, "you neglected to mention that Rollins would be joining us tonight." Almost instantly, as she lowers her hands back down to her hips, she adds, "and Fin."

"I did?" Carisi replies sheepishly, now severely intimidated by the irate tone of his superior's voice and her dark orbs that are digging into his soul. "At first," he admits, "Fin and I just asked Amanda to come out with us, because we didn't want to bother you on your day off…but…" he continues to squirm, "when Amanda got here, she seemed pretty appalled that we didn't invite you, so that's why I shot you a text…" he finishes, precariously throwing Amanda under the bus.

Amanda is beside herself at her co-worker's cowardly admission of her attempted manipulation. "Carisi! Fuckin' stop talking!" she exclaims in a panicked voice, lunging toward him in an attempt to cover his mouth with her bare hands. He jumps away from her and as a result, knocks his head into the side of the building. As he is furiously massaging the occipital portion of his skull, he comes to the realization that he and Fin have initiated something dangerous by inviting the two women out together, and further decides that it is none of his business. "I think I'm going to head back inside," he quietly drones, eyes shifting rapidly back-and-forth between the two heated women, "sorry for not being clear, Lieutenant. If you guys need anythi-"

Olivia cuts him off by a flippant wave of her right hand to prompt dismissal. With his now-aching head bowed down, like a child in trouble, Carisi shuffles back inside of the warm building, greeting Fin with a troubled frown.

Outside, the awkward silence has returned to the air as the two women stand across from each other. Even though Amanda has no clue that she has spent the majority of her day overcome with anxiety and thoughts of her past and present relationships, Olivia still feels vulnerable and cautious. She begins opening her mouth to chastise Amanda, disgusted with the fact that she has so sneakily fooled Carisi and Fin in her seemingly innocent attempt to include their boss in a squad outing, but shortly thereafter refrains from speaking, as her eyes begin to soften when she notices the amount of pain in Amanda's usually soft features.

"'Manda," Olivia says gently, shifting toward the shaking woman, silently cursing herself for her incessant need to comfort others, "I'm the one who should be sorry." The older woman inhales sharply and concurrently decides just how much more honesty she is willing to release into the universe today. "I'm sorry I didn't get the chance to text you back…it's just been a rough day."

Amanda's eyes flicker with sadness; the need to shed herself of the selfishness she has been displaying throughout this entire interaction growing stronger inside her with each passing moment. "What's wrong?" she questions, with an arched eyebrow and a hint of despair looming in her voice.

"Nothing-" Olivia habitually responds, "I mean," she hastily corrects, determined to be honest about her feelings for once in her life, "we all have our demons, Amanda," she concludes, wincing at her choice of such melodramatic words.

Amanda feels a sharp stab of pain wrench itself into her gut and accepts the older woman's answer, actually quite thrilled that her superior has shared something slightly personal with her, no matter how vague it really is. When it comes Olivia, Amanda has trouble remaining anything other than totally transparent; she often finds herself wishing she could say the same about her characteristically guarded boss.

"Liv…" the younger woman says, definitely speaking more coherently now, as if the seriousness of the situation has forced her to sober up a bit. "I get it…I get it more than you know…the demons…" she pauses, in an attempt to prolong the inevitable openness that constantly leaks from her when she is around the older woman.

"That's actually why I texted you earlier."


	5. Chapter 5

The ordinarily tough and sound Lieutenant Olivia Benson finds herself currently undergoing an out-of-body experience of sorts; earnestly wondering if she has gained the supernatural power to peer down from the heavens from an outsider's point of view as she processes this peculiar situation between herself and her younger detective. Olivia notes that her arms have broken free of their formerly crossed position and have subsequently, without her permission, wrapped themselves around her drunk and presently emotionally unstable colleague.

The older woman finds herself just now recognizing the harsh winter winds ripping against her body, filling her with chills down to her bones; in addition, her head begins to spin with stress, her heart starts pounding, her underarms feel sticky with budding sweat, and her legs sway from side-to-side. She takes a quick moment to feel her pulse on her wrist without disturbing the hug with Amanda; she judges that her heart rate is almost certainly over 100 beats per minute. It's all happening so fast—she almost loses her balance as a result of the developing panic attack—but remains safe in an upright position thanks to her subordinate's even firmer grip around her. Olivia sucks in a ragged breath, comforted by Amanda's strong embrace, and struggles to breathe deeper to fill her lungs with oxygen as she seeks the will to speak. She is suddenly distracted by sloppy words that are presently spilling out of the younger woman's mouth—a mouth that is so tightly and inappropriately placed against her own chest—each utter producing a dull vibration that sends itself all throughout Olivia's body.

"Livvyyy…ready…to go homeee…" the younger detective repeatedly slurs, carelessly breaking the looming silence, as if she has already forgotten the seriousness of their situation and has allowed the alcohol to regain control of her mouth. "I'm c-c-cold and my tummy hurts…" she further announces in an abnormally, extra-whiny voice; a voice the superior is not used to hearing come from her usually tough and stubborn detective. "It hurts so much, I think-" she adds, before rapidly liberating her entangled upper extremities from around Olivia's back; and proceeding to briskly sprint over to the curb before kneeling down to empty her stomach of its poisoned contents.

Without any hesitation, Olivia sprints over to Amanda, consciously noting that this is the fastest she has run in years. As the blonde woman continues to vomit, Olivia gently towers over behind her to collect the inconveniently placed golden strands, gathering them into a makeshift ponytail. The older woman smears the residual chunks that have already found their place in Amanda's hair onto her dark jeans, briefly grimacing at how sordid their current situation is, but overall finds herself appreciative that she is the one here, aiding Amanda throughout her time of need.

When Amanda is done getting sick, she makes a wobbly attempt to stand back up, arms now wrapped back around the lieutenant, holding on for dear life. The younger detective's freshly washed hair is now caked with grease and sweat, she smells foul—like stale cigarettes and a mix of tequila and beer—and the circles that have so quickly formed underneath her puffy eyes send Olivia into further alarm.

"Yuck," Amanda grumbles, as she removes an arm from around Olivia's back to wipe a hand over her mouth. "Sorry, Liv. Guess I had a little more than I thought," she snorts, as she slips a hand into the pocket of her own jeans, fumbling around the tight space before grabbing ahold of her car keys.

"Amanda, you are _not_ about to drive home!" the lieutenant ferociously reprimands, with feelings of disbelief and unease pasted across her face.

"I'm not?" the younger detective lightheartedly inquires, clearly returning back to her currently immature self. With a smirk tugging at each corner of her dried lips, Amanda proceeds to condescendingly jangle the keys in front of Olivia's stunned face. "Who's gonna stop me?"

"Absolutely _not,_ " the older woman confirms with a slight raise in her voice. As she snatches the cold keys out of her detective's fingers, she relishes in a moment of brief gratitude that Amanda's hand-eye-coordination has been severely lessened, making the theft of her car keys quite easy. She proceeds to remember that Amanda is defiant in nature; her current state of alcohol-induced irrationality only is bound to make matters worse.

Olivia loosens her posture, in an attempt to appear more approachable. "I don't think that we should stay here," she calmly explains, "but I am not letting you get behind the wheel. I can drive you back home; or, actually-" she clarifies, before promptly cutting herself off, feeling hesitant yet again to voice her next thought.

"Or…" she continues with false confidence, and stammering lightly, "you can stay at my place tonight."

"Are you trying to get me to come home with you, Livvy?" the younger woman immediately chuckles in response, not seeming to notice the blush that has crept across the older woman's olive-toned cheeks.

"Uggghhh," Olivia mumbles right away, pausing briefly to scrub her freezing, avascularized hands over her face as she ponders this strange, seemingly flirtatious exchange. She knows Amanda is most likely just speaking to her like this because of the booze; although the younger detective has trouble remaining professional at times, she's never toed the line of flirtation. Olivia remains paused, further identifying the blooming heat that has taken up residence in her chest and between her thighs. She mentally refers back to her previous declaration of "letting loose" tonight, before she ran into an angry Amanda, and decides to toe the line right back.

"Yes, _Mandy,_ I'm trying to get you to come home with me; I've secretly been waiting for this opportunity since the day I met you," she admits with a patent sarcasm and a roll of the eyes; desperately attempting not to blow her cover and flinch at just how true the pronouncement actually may be. She expects Amanda to be shocked by this aberrant reply, and even feels slightly embarrassed, even though Amanda will surely think she's joking.

"Yup," Amanda immediately responds, nodding in an outwardly omniscient confirmation, like she knows this is the truth. "But…" she trails off, a look of devastation speedily covering her soft features. "Frannie."

"Shit," Olivia mutters aloud without a second thought, realizing that any ounce of clarity she formerly possessed has now completely abandoned her; she has forgotten about the needy, furry creature herself. In an attempt to regain some control of this spiraling situation, the brunette states, "I'm driving you home, Amanda. And I'm spending the night at your place. I don't feel comfortable leaving you alone right now, especially since we haven't gotten to talk about the 'demons.'"

Amanda's face instantaneously lights up at her boss' resolution. Comprehending this, Olivia strictly adds, "I'll sleep on the couch," in an attempt not to completely cross over line of professionalism that has undoubtedly already been blurred.

"Yay! A sleepover!" Amanda gasps in excitement, as she reaches around the older woman's upper body yet again, trapping her in a snug embrace, definitely intent on never letting go.

"Yeah…a sleepover…" the older woman cautiously mutters, as she unintentionally sinks her already-enveloped body deeper into the tinier woman's embrace.

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"Hey guys…" Olivia grudgingly states to her two fellow squad mates who are presently babbling drunkenly back-and-forth with each other as they sit on two rickety bar stools, "Amanda isn't feeling so well, so I'm going to make sure she gets home safely. Sorry I couldn't stay long—or at all, for that matter."

"Uh huh" Fin replies, an arched eyebrow indicating he is instinctually aware that something peculiar is going on between the two women. "Feel better, 'Manda."

Carisi, who is still attempting to recover from his boss' previous admonishment, warily utters, "Sounds good, boss…I'm sorry about earlier…Amanda, if you need anything, let me know please, you have my numb-" before Olivia punctually cuts him off with a dismissive wave of her hand again.

As they are swinging the door of the bar open, Olivia adds, "Night, guys. See you Monday morning—bright and early—and on time—without any hangovers."

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"What am I going to do with you, Amanda Rollins?" the older woman playfully asks as she buckles her now very sleepy colleague into the car. Once she is seated in the driver's seat, Olivia blows some warm breath into her hands, silently praying for the return of a normal amount of blood circulation that will allow her to clutch the steering wheel with confidence. As she turns the keys into the ignition, she hears Amanda mumble a response so softly, that she has to ask her to repeat herself.

"Anything you want, Liv…you can do anything you want to me…"


	6. Chapter 6

_Author's Note: Thank you SO much for all of the positive feedback on this story! I can't even express how grateful I am that people are actually emotionally invested in something I'm creating. I'm having so much fun; I can't believe I didn't start writing fanfiction sooner! I also promise to always be as quick to update as I possibly can-however-I am in nursing school, and sometimes, that takes precedence over writing. :( I do have a lot of ideas for the next couple of chapters, though, so hopefully I can find the time to write them this week! Thank you again, and I hope that you like this chapter. Xoxo_

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The dusty, old-fashioned clock that is sitting un-hung and up against a wall on the counter in Amanda's undisturbed kitchen reads close to midnight, as the detective and her superior furiously stumble through the hefty apartment door. Olivia is essentially carrying Amanda in her arms at this point—after making a bargain with her, promising snacks—and having struggled greatly to get her limp body out of the car—and to pressure her into walking out of the parking garage and into the elevator. As soon as they bust through the stubborn entrance of Amanda's one-room apartment, and the soles of their slush-covered shoes touch the hardwood floor of the living room, Amanda gradually slides out of Olivia's arms and droops down to contort her body into a puddle on the ground. Frannie has already awoken out of her lonely, peaceful slumber, and hurries to greet her sloppy owner with a stroke of her sloppy, wet tongue. Amanda remains undisturbed by her loyal companion's welcoming; Olivia shakes her head in response, rustling the wavy, brown locks, and lifts a foot over her drunken subordinate to switch on a dim light.

"Okay, 'Manda," Olivia prods, now crouched low to the ground next to Amanda, seeking direct access into the detective's small ear. "C'mon, sweetheart," she adds, allowing the pet name to slip out of her mouth without a second thought, secure in the fact that the younger woman is indeed far from consciousness. She gently shakes Amanda's limber, bony shoulders in an attempt to wake her from the dead, but is met only with a throaty grumble and a slew of some choice words uttered from the small detective's mouth.

Frannie, who is anxiously awaiting her owner's attention, attempts to help Olivia awake her sleepy master by barking lightly and pawing at her arm. Now feeling nothing short of totally overwhelmed, Olivia decides to take three deep breaths—as suggested by Dr. Lindstrom—and consequently breathes out heaps of carbon dioxide over Amanda's flaccid body. The deep breathing instantly relaxes her, and she further resolves to drown out the yaps and drift off into her own mind. The older, now more calm lieutenant quickly realizes that her brain is in an endless loop, constantly replaying the words Amanda so carelessly uttered right before her cheek plopped against the icy car window and she passed out: "anything you want, Liv...you can do anything you want to me."

 _"What the hell does that even mean?"_ the older woman internally demands, now fully immersed in the depths of her subconscious yearnings. " _We've barely even scratched the surface as friends…why would she assume I would even WANT to do anything to her? Is this what she means by 'demons?' Does Rollins like women? DO I like women?"_

The baffled brunette is harshly interrupted by a very restless dog, whom she can only assume is eager for attention, and, perhaps, in need to relieve herself. She verbally questions Frannie if she needs to go "potty," and her overzealous response only confirms her suspicion.

As Olivia hoists Amanda up from the now-dirtied ground, she is conscious to press all of the weight into her legs and NOT her back. The veteran cop remembers learning this tip in the police academy several years ago, relying on it on a daily basis while catching perps. A tinge of nostalgia overcomes the older woman as she remembers her younger years, when she was naïve, optimistic, and definitely more open. Olivia is nearly screaming in agony as she positions the younger woman, whose limbs are inevitably splayed out all over into a jumbled mess, onto the couch—the place where she expects Amanda to retire for the night. Olivia stands in front of the piece of furniture for a moment, seriously wondering how such a tiny woman could weigh so much. "Jesus Christ, I'm getting too old for this shit," she shamelessly mutters aloud this time, as she simultaneously massages a hand into the small of her already-aching back.

Olivia takes a step back and reaches a hand into the pocket of her coat that she has yet to take off, grabs her phone, and opens the flashlight app on the device. She creeps around the shadowy apartment to find Frannie's leash, which is, much to her surprise, actually placed atop a hook on an organized rack next to the front door. Olivia ponders this strange occurrence: Amanda doesn't seem like she would have any aspects of a Type-A personality, but the orderly items prove otherwise. Frannie is now giddy with enthusiasm, impressively jumping up so high that she can reach Olivia's shoulders, and subsequently places a kiss on her cheek when she realizes she is about to be taken outside.

After Olivia and her new furry friend have engaged in some unexpected bonding, Olivia is determined to be as quiet as possible as they sneak back into the living room of Amanda's apartment; she is now unwilling to engage in any more drama for the evening. She does wonder, however, if she should be at liberty to decide where she is going to sleep. Amanda is taking up the entire couch; she definitely can't leave the younger woman alone, and she doesn't feel that it would be appropriate to sleep in her subordinate's bed, especially without her permission. As the canine and lieutenant make their way back into the living room of the apartment, Olivia decides that she will steal some pillows and a blanket off of Amanda's bed, and crash on the floor next to the couch for the night. Before this thought is fully finished, Olivia sees that Amanda remains as undisturbed as she was when Frannie licked her face; her limbs are now gathered close to her trunk as she rests tranquilly, a heavy snore flowing out of her stuffy sinuses. The brunette feels a rush of relief as she finally loosens the belt of her coat and slips her booties off.

With the flashlight still illuminating from her iPhone, Olivia quietly journeys a few feet over to the kitchen. She cracks open a cupboard that is next to another systematized setting containing Frannie's food and water dishes. She winces at the sound made by her own hands unfolding the bag of dog food, as she places bits of kibble into Frannie's dish. She unloads the kibble only a handful at a time, in lieu of making too much noise. A nearly inaudible sigh of respite escapes from her parted lips when she notes that Frannie still has some water in the other bowl. As soon as the sigh has exited the older woman's mouth, she hears a rustle coming from the couch; shoulders instantaneously tensing in response as she swings her head around and is greeted with the sight of Amanda's head popping up from beneath the fuzzy blanket she had placed atop of her before she took Frannie outside.

Amanda is an utter mess, both metaphorically and literally; blonde strands of hair are sticking up in all directions, the bags under her eyes have tinted into a deep purple color, there is dried drool resting on each side of her lips, and her already-wrinkled shirt has gravitated to the side of her shoulder, revealing just a little too much.

"Hey, sleepyhead," Olivia remarks cautiously, attempting to assess the younger woman's mood.

"Liv? Where…are we? How d-did I get here? Where's my F-Frannie?" immediately splays from the younger woman's mouth, hiccups intercepting every other word or so.

The brunette gracefully walks toward the blonde, and gently motions for her to make some room on the couch. Olivia speaks in a lull, soothing whisper: "Honey, we're at your place. I drove home—you're safe—Frannie is safe and taken care of—I was just about to head to bed myself."

Nodding in sheepish understanding, Amanda tries to stand up, before she loses her balance and topples down onto the older woman's lap. "Hey there, take it easy," the older woman lightly chastises, "you need to get some rest yourself," she adds, as she rubs a couple of fingers through Amanda's greasy hair; her vacant hand stroking along the younger woman's back. Amanda lets out a slight moan at this rare touch from her superior, which promptly sends Olivia into a downward spiral.

"Okay," Amanda mutters in response, "let's go."

"What?" Olivia genuinely inquires.

"Let's goooo…to bed," the detective slurs. "Duh. Can you help me? I'm having…uhh..some trouble…standing up…"

Confused, the older woman tenderly replies, "Amanda, I figured you would stay on the couch tonight…I was just going to sleep on the floor next to you."

Amanda is aghast. "Livvy! No! Why would you do that?"

"Why not?" Olivia chuckles in guilt, "the beds in the crib are way worse than a hardwood floor, anyways—and I've slept in those more times than I can count."

Immediately, Amanda starts to tear up; she rapidly flutters her eyelashes in an embarrassed response, desperately trying to keep the tears at bay.

"'Manda, honey, what's wrong?" Olivia questions, grasping her emotional detective in an even-tighter grip.

"Livvy…I'm drunkkk…I'm so…embarrassed…" she continues, tears falling in rivulets down her cheeks, not even bothering to fight against them anymore.

"Can you just sleep in my bed with me?" she softly asks her boss—definitely crossing a line—blue orbs gazing romantically into Olivia's milk chocolate eyes.

A victim to the heat of the moment, and against her better judgment, Olivia complies.

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As they are drifting off to sleep, both pairs of eyelids now heavy with fatigue, and with Amanda wrapped tightly in her arms, Olivia finds the hysterics of this Saturday finally starting to catch up to her. She mentally notes that she had been so distracted earlier—immediately shifting into gear and unconsciously channeling her inner caretaker as soon as she realized Amanda wasn't okay—that she has just begun to notice that it's the middle of the night, and she is at Amanda's apartment. Even worse, she is in her bed and spooning with the younger, drunk woman. _Correction_ , she internally verbalizes—she is spooning with her younger, drunk, female subordinate—her younger, drunk, female subordinate, that she is, without a doubt, hopelessly attracted to.

As Olivia feels another panic attack materializing, and emotionally prepares to glide Amanda out of her own initiated embrace, completely engrossed in fear about what it means, the younger woman drunkenly attempts to utter a statement. Unfortunately, the statement comes out so inaudible and so muffled, due to the fact that her mouth is pressed up against Olivia's chest, that she has to work up the courage to ask Amanda to clarify.

"The…demons…" Amanda repeats.


	7. Chapter 7

Olivia can feel her own thundering heartbeat hammering against her temples as she lies prone next to the inebriated and vulnerable detective, who, somehow, even in the midst of her extraordinarily drunken state, still remembers that she hasn't yet confessed to the reason she had aberrantly texted her boss on a Saturday, and spun out of control when Olivia didn't reply to her.

Immediately after Amanda's reiteration of the "demons," Olivia finds herself met with intense, halting feelings of both curiosity and apprehension; she buries her head deeper into her pillow in response, inadvertently inhaling the sweet coconut scent lingering from Amanda's sheets. The normally stable and collected lieutenant's palms have begun to pop out thousands of beads of sweat as she grips her own thighs for a sense of release; her jaw locking and her throat constricting, blocking any sliver of air that was previously flowing through.

Somehow, the older woman finds the inner strength to reply to the cryptic sentiment, her head spinning presumably just as much as Amanda's now. "'Manda...I haven't forgotten. And I'm more than willing to listen, honey—in fact, I can't wait—but...I think that we should wait until morning to talk...when you're feeling more up to it." She is met with silence.

Unsurprisingly, Amanda Rollins has already fallen victim to the unforgiving grip of alcohol-induced unconsciousness yet again, leaving Olivia to talk only to herself and a sleeping Frannie, who is curled up on the floor aside Amanda's side of the bed. The now-irritated and drained lieutenant liberates an exasperated sigh she wasn't aware she was holding, as she reluctantly tightens her grip to spoon the sleeping blonde. Olivia notes that she is yet again comforted and safe in the fact that Amanda has no idea any of this is taking place, a slight tinge of guilt simmering in her core for holding her without her permission. Olivia continues to struggle for hours to shut her mind off, praying to a god she's not sure she believes in to drift off into a much-needed slumber.

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Olivia awakens from what she customarily calls a "death sleep" around 10 a.m. the next morning, feeling somewhat rested, but also immersed in panic as she comes to realize that Amanda is no longer passed out next to her. Her hands immediately scramble across the sweat-filled sheets, thoroughly and frantically smoothing down each fold in a despairing attempt to find the missing woman. She knocks over a glass of water as she reaches onto the nightstand beside her to grab her glasses, muttering an internal "thank you" to "past Liv" who remembered to take her contacts out the night prior, amidst all of the chaos.

After Olivia strips the bed of its sheets, and uses the dirty fabric to wipe up the spilled contents, she momentarily settles herself down by sitting back on the bed, and taking a few deep breaths as she cracks the stress out of her neck. During this process, she feels her nostrils flare in retort to the enduring smell of savory breakfast food that has slipped underneath the crack of the closed bedroom door. "Mmm," she unconsciously states aloud; shortly thereafter realizing it has been hours and hours since she last ate, as her stomach echoes a rumble in unison. In addition, the older, usually poised woman finds herself astounded by the amounts of drool pooling over her lips, as she swallows the excess amount of saliva that has instinctively formed.

She unravels her limbs from the bare mattress, and works to steady her feet onto the cold ground. Clad in a pair of Amanda's yoga pants that clasp tightly around her thighs, an _Atlanta Braves_ jersey that fits all-too-well, and her recently acquired glasses perched atop her nose, she cautiously works up the bravery to open up the bedroom door.

Her line of vision immediately reveals a very perky Amanda, who is standing barefoot in the kitchen that is now draped in a gorgeous sunlight; still dressed in a soiled pair of jeans and a revealing, thin t-shirt from last night. However, Olivia recognizes, the younger woman has added a new piece of apparel to her wardrobe: a red and white-checkered apron.

Olivia cannot believe her eyes: the formerly drunken and unconscious woman who she thought would be severely hungover, is somehow wide awake, and presumably has been for some time, cooking what she assumes will be for the two of them, a hearty meal. Olivia watches in amazement as Amanda's bony arms flay from the stove that is littered with sizzling pots and pans—to grabbing condiments out of the fridge—and across the counter to fill the coffee pot with freshly-grinded beans. It takes a few moments before Amanda notices her boss standing across a short distance from her, completely doe-eyed and as white as a ghost.

"Happy Sunday?" the younger detective sheepishly questions, a slight blush heating her already-red cheeks that are littered with broken blood vessels, and a hand tightly clasped around a charred spatula, as she cocks her head to the side.

"...Happy...Sunday... _Rollins_..." Olivia sharply verbalizes; the guarded reply nothing short of a representation for how quickly she has conceptually come to terms with what has happened over the past twenty-four hours. The previously calmer woman immediately feels her muscles tense in guilt, shame, and remorse, as a slew of unkind words spray across her mind: _What the hell am I doing here? This is the definition of inappropriate. I should've just slept on the couch. No. I should've just driven her home and left. Why do I always feel the need to take care of everyone? Deflate your ego next time, Liv. I'm not even attracted to her. I'm not a lesbian. Never have been, never will be. I just broke up with Tucker, for Christ's sake. And...Elliot._ She physically shakes her head, which tosses her dark, brown strands of hair in all directions, as she pathetically struggles to shut off her brain yet again. _This can't happen. I'm her boss. I could lose my job; my life; my reputation. A fucking apron? Why is this so domestic? Why do I kind-of like it? How can she possibly look so pretty right now?_

Intuitive cobalt eyes are successful in breaking Olivia's delirium as they dart directly into her hazy brown orbs; Olivia feeling herself utterly dumbfounded at Amanda's recognition of her own mental torture.

"So here's what's on the menu this morning…" Amanda continues, in an attempt to diffuse the awkwardness that has now covered the entire apartment. "Chocolate chip OR blueberry pancakes, your pick; scrambled eggs; rye-bread toast; vanilla Greek yogurt; tater-tots; and, of course, all of the coffee you can drink.

Olivia continues to stand across from her subordinate, feeling ashamed that she is dressed in all of her clothes. She is totally frozen except for the strategic movements of her strong fingers picking at the cuticles on her left hand; a nervous habit she formed as a child and has yet to break.

"Listen, Liv..." Amanda states, thinking that if she had a tail, it would most certainly be in between her legs right now. "I know it's not much…and I have a hell of a lot of explaining to do…but I wanted to at least make you breakfast to express how sorry I am about last night..."

Still, Olivia says nothing; paralyzed by her own thoughts that are now telling her to either run away, or run directly into the younger woman's arms; either way, she needs to make a decision right now.

"I went to the store as soon as I woke up earlier..." Amanda continues, sensing Olivia's growing edginess. "I always wake up early after a night of drinking," she nervously chuckles. "I'm sorry if you were worried about where I was when you woke up to an empty bed...for what it's worth, I appreciate you cuddling me last night. I really needed it."

After this testimony, Olivia decides she needs to leave. Now.

"I...I can't be here any longer," she finally fares to stammer. "I know you want to confide in me, but it's gonna have to wait." The older woman feels herself being pulled in multiple directions; however, the all-encompassing sense of fear she feels tugging at her insides ultimately conquers any rational thoughts. She quickly dashes into the bathroom, scrambling to rid herself of the blonde's sweet-smelling clothes; tears trickling in streams down her face as she sheds the comfortable, clean garments.

Not even a few moments later, Olivia is hurriedly rushing toward the front door, frantically struggling to pull her booties on, and feeling far too mortified to even mutter a simple "goodbye" to the teary blonde, who is now standing worriedly upright with full plates of steaming-hot breakfast food in her hands.

"Liv!" the younger detective exclaims, "Please wait!"

Just as Olivia slams the door shut, Amanda finally finds herself ready to utter the words that have consistently been burning a hole in her throat lately. "…My Daddy killed himself."

She is too late; Olivia is already gone.

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 _Author's Note: Okay, y'all, stick with me here. I have to get some angst out before I reward all of us with some Rolivia fluff. It's coming; I promise._


	8. Chapter 8

_A/N: This chapter contains sexual content, and is definitely rated M! If you're not into that, it's cool! I will post the next chapter soon. Also: this is my first time writing anything smutty, so I apologize in advance if it's awkward. Please leave reviews and let me know how I'm doing! Xoxo_

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Although the air still feels unforgiving and frigid as it presses against the wrapped faces of the New Yorkers walking about, it is a gorgeous Sunday evening in Manhattan. The skies are a bright blue, cloudless, and the sun is shining vividly—ultimately making it a balmy forty degrees Fahrenheit all across the city. As it nears 7:30 p.m., the exposed light works its way down the frozen horizon—making it seem as though it is tucking itself in beneath the Hudson River for the night. Unfortunately, the simplicity of the sunset that she usually takes so much pleasure in doesn't seem to catch Detective Amanda Rollins' attention at the moment.

After spending hours sluggishly glued to her couch in front of the TV, mindlessly droning through channels until she ultimately gave up and spent the rest of her day staring up at the ceiling in a consuming fog, the blonde detective is currently reacquainted with some pent-up energy, and is pacing back-and-forth around her apartment. She decorates the living room in anxious vibes as she speaks to herself, and possibly her dog Frannie—who is now sprawled out in a sleepy daze across the couch herself—and wearily struggling to peek an eye open at her restless owner. "John Wayne" by Amanda's favorite band—Cigarettes After Sex—scratches gently against the needle of her beat-up record player that her Dad had given to her over thirty years ago, on her sixth birthday, after he realized the young girl was already an avid lover of music.

 _He's got so much in his heart_

 _But he doesn't know what to do_

 _All he wants is her_

 _Lying inside his room…_

"How…how could she just leave?" the sad woman weakly probes to no one in particular, feeling the weight of her question haunting the stuffy air of her apartment. "She didn't even say goodbye…damn…" she trails off briefly; drumming her fingers against the sides of her thigh, before returning to reality. "Yup," she mutters under her breath. "Work is going to be awkward tomorrow." Both of Frannie's eyes are now open and darting back-and-forth in a rapid succession as she watches her owner stride across the hardwood floor. "At least you got to have a good breakfast, Frannie," she states with an uneasy cackle.

Amanda feels the anger bubbling up in her throat, and her lips purse into a tight frown as she continues on with her listless rant. " _This_ is why I don't trust people," she confirms, shifting her weight between each foot as she steadies herself. "You know what…? Fuck it!" she abruptly exclaims, aggressively slicing the air with her hands. Frannie perks an ear up in response to the shrill voice piercing the air, but continues to remain perched on the couch in a sitting position.

Amanda instantly notices her dog's attention, since she is already so on guard, and feels grateful for an audience, even if it is only of the canine species. "This is why we don't let people in, girl," she verbally ratifies with the nod of her head. "Better off alone. People…" she sighs. "So selfish. They never fail to disappoint you." "People," she repeats, "they always leave." As soon as the young blonde finishes this conclusion, she proceeds to stumble over to the couch, and gently pushes her dog aside to make some room for herself. Her body forcefully slumps down into the worn-out cushions, in pure emotional exhaustion. "Always…t-they always leave," she reiterates lightly, as a tear slides down her delicate, already-stained cheek. "Even the people you would trust with your life. Even the people you HAVE trusted with your life." She lifts her legs up to meet her chin, and wraps her bony arms around her kneecaps. She contorts her way into the fetal position on a single cushion as she mentally recalls the lengthy list of people who have hurt her more than she could ever describe. The memories of these people are buried so deep within her; memories she continuously works to keep buried, fearful of the power they hold over her. She doesn't dare allow herself to speak their names aloud; instead, she just sits there, body coiled in a ball, and trapped in her mind. _Mom. Kim. Declan. Patton. Daddy…_

 _Even Liv._ She is left breathless with this realization: that the woman she had idolized and feigned after for so long, both before AND after coming to work with her in the 1-6, could end up hurting more than everyone else combined—even her own father—who literally just killed himself. Amanda feels her heart aching in a way it never has before; as if the thoracic cavity is shattering beneath her knees that hold it together.

She goes further to psychologically kick herself, for believing that even for a moment she could trust her boss—who she has had a complicated relationship with, to say the least—with the admission of her father's suicide. "And to think that I was goin' to ask her about seeing Dr. Lindstrom again," she pitifully chuckles. Rationally, she thinks, _she didn't know that Olivia would ignore her text message. And she didn't mean to get so drunk. And she wasn't expecting her boss to actually show up, after she coerced Carisi into inviting her. She was hurting. She is hurting._

The thought of going to a GA meeting fleetingly passes through her mind; however, she remembers, GA meetings help with addiction to gambling, and not addiction to _people_.

"You know what, Frannie?" Amanda inquires to her now-anxious dog, who has fully picked up on her owner's emotions and is frantically licking her own paws in an attempt to soothe herself.

"I think it's just gonna be you and me, girl—forever…" she lethargically states, feeling her eyelids slowly growing heavy, as the record-player still plays her beloved tunes.

 _He's always feeling cheated,_

 _telling all his secrets_

 _That I couldn't keep…_

Her face is now collapsed so hard against the side of the couch that her eyebrow has drawn upward, and her eyelid is spread half-open against the cushion. "It's like she has half a heart," she mumbles, before drifting off into another depression-filled slumber.

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Meanwhile, Lieutenant Olivia Benson is back in her bathtub, after spending the remainder of her Sunday running errands in an attempt to maintain the notion that she still has her life somewhat together. This time, however, she is accompanied by a tall glass of wine, and a Lush bath bomb that smells of coconuts. She is determined to kill the stress that has encompassed her entire being after this past weekend by relaxing—truly relaxing—as best as she knows how. To her, that includes pushing down any and all thoughts about Amanda Rollins, whatever "demons" she apparently feels the need to bare, and her own growing attraction toward the small woman—at least for the time being.

The tap is turned off, but the water is still steaming with warmth as it settles in foamy layers around her bare legs. Her chilly feet are placed outside of the liquid in a crossed position on the right-hand side of the tub, where the shampoo usually takes up residence. She inhales deeply as she sets down her wine glass, and traces the pad of her index finger against the golden bar hanging from a chain alongside her neck. She is hit with a wave of nausea when she eventually comes to realize that she is breathing in the scent of coconut; consequently reminded of how similar it smells to the sweet aroma that lingered from Amanda's bed sheets last night. She is further reminded of how she came to acquire this cherished necklace in the first place; a gift that usually brings her so much peace and comfort. Right now, however, the piece of jewelry is regrettably associated with a person she does not want to be thinking about.

In response to these unwanted memories and associations, Olivia swallows some wine to force down the rising bile in her throat, and unhooks the thin piece of gold from her neck. After she carefully places the object on the lid of the toilet, she begins to fidget, a hopeless effort to quiet her ever-racing mind. The brunette wraps her damp hair into a bun, and lowers her fingers into the water, swirling the bursting colors that trail from the bath bomb all around the tub. She takes another gulp of wine, which leaves a natural-looking, crimson stain across her lips.

In lieu of having another panic attack, Olivia attempts to ground herself by using a coping mechanism Dr. Lindstrom had given her shortly after she began seeing him again after William Lewis had kidnapped her. "Okay…" she recalls. "One thing I can hear, one thing I can see, one thing I can touch."

"I can hear the water dripping from this damn tap that won't stop leaking."

"I can see the shower tiles."

"I can touch…myself?" she questions, a hint of apprehension apparent in her voice.

She briefly attempts to recall the last time she viewed herself in a sexual manner. It's important, she has always believed, for women to be proud of their bodies. She has always loved the female body—her own especially—but lately—she's been distracted. In addition, the time she spent with William Lewis certainly hindered her growth in appreciating her maturing body, and she has spent countless hours trying to gain slivers of confidence back. She is no stranger to looking at herself naked; this time, however, the situation feels a little different. She's not just thinking about her own naked body.

"Fuck," she mutters aloud, desperately willing the thoughts of Amanda Rollins to be banished from her mind. "I'm obsessing." In addition to the dripping faucet, she can now hear her own ragged breathing.

She ruminates for a moment, gazing down at the valley between her breasts and at her olive-toned, shaved legs. _I guess…I guess no one's gonna know but me…_

Perhaps it's the wine, but that's all the rationalization she needs to allow the floodgates of her mind to open. With the flip of a switch, she graciously welcomes images of the younger, blonde detective. As memories of Amanda protrude into her brain, she feels an arousal gnawing at her groin in response. She finds herself drawn to images of Amanda at work in particular. She pictures the gorgeous, tiny, toned woman with her blonde hair pulled back into a half-ponytail, either sitting at her desk in professional attire, intently staring at the screen of her computer…or, _even better_ …out in the field, dressed in her police uniform. "God, that…fucking uniform…" she whimpers aloud, briefly jolting as she realizes her hands have inadvertently gripped the side of the tub.

The very turned-on brunette reaches her arms up from the side of the tub and cups her hands around her breasts, feeling the weight of the globes resting in her palms as she squeezes tenderly. She begins to trace her fingernails around the perfect pink buds that lie in unison at each middle; she gives each nipple a quick pinch, which incites a soft, husky moan from the back of her throat. Her groans grow louder as she pictures Amanda clad in that navy-blue fabric, encased in that bullet-proof vest, with the word "POLICE" sketched across her chest; her shield always placed so securely over her left shoulder.

"Mmmff," she pants, her fingers falling down the valley of her chest until they rest in the middle of her abdomen. She feels a warm heat coating her entire body as she continues to trail the digits down her toned stomach, until they greet her entrance. "'Manda…" she huffs, allowing her imagination to take over completely.

She briefly pauses and pops an eye open to take a peek at the water surrounding her thighs, which has now transformed to resemble a thick paste. A smirk creeps across her face, and she allows herself to bask in the deliciousness of her own wetness. Beaming, she trails a finger over the protruding bundle of nerves that are begging to be touched.

She wonders, as a hot blush crawls across her cheeks, if just the mere thoughts of Amanda can do this to her, what the actual Amanda could do to her.

She exhales in a visceral reaction, as two fingers slide in. "Oh my god." She pumps the fingers up against her spongy walls for as long as she can until no longer physically handle the teasing. She's so close already; she doesn't even care about how hard the surrounding water is making her task. Her head tilts back in pleasure as she shamelessly visualizes just how sexy Amanda looked this morning. _Those jeans, impeccably tight enough to cup her already-perfect ass into a more-perfect form. That thin shirt, a mere barrier, sliding down her shoulder to expose that black bra strap._

 _Oh my god._

She unclenches and permits her fingers to slide out; even though they are underneath water, she can feel still feel her moisture covering the skin. Instantly, she places a hand upon the projection, gasping in indulgence, and starts to relieve herself. She frantically and chaotically swirls several fingers around the aching bundle of nerves until she is rewarded with pure ecstasy.

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Olivia is lying comfortably in bed, feeling satisfied and somewhat relaxed by her previous endeavor. She is clothed in her favorite purple bathrobe as she sips another glass of red wine. There is one problem, however: she can't stop thinking about Amanda. She sets the glass of wine down and begins to play with the necklace that she eagerly chained right back on after she got out of the tub; pondering deeply as she twirls the cold metal around her pruned fingers. After some time, the older woman comes to the decision that she needs to grow up and consciously work to chip away at the wall she so foolishly built several years ago. She also comes to realize that she can't keep harboring this intense guilt that constantly gnaws at her insides for much longer. If she doesn't take some action, she concludes, she will either act out at work, on an arguably deserving perp, or worse: she'll continue to take it out on Amanda.

Shortly after her epiphany, Olivia feels the urge to reach out to the younger woman, who has probably had nothing short of a very shitty day. She internally chastises herself for forgetting to remember Amanda's feelings today, much too distracted by her own agony.

Her fingers rapidly splay across the touchscreen of her phone as she types the message.

"Amanda. I'm sorry for leaving so abruptly earlier—I wasn't feeling very well. Can we talk tomorrow during lunch? I'll see you then. Get some rest. Goodnight."

After the "swoosh" sound confirms that the text has been sent, the restless brunette compulsively re-reads her explanation. _At least it's half-true,_ she justifies.

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Hours pass by, and this time, it is Olivia that is left without a response.


	9. Chapter 9

_A/N: This LONG chapter is written in the third-person, but I jump around a lot in terms of POV and timing. Sorry! That's just the way it flowed in my brain, and I like the way it turned out. I hope you do too! This chapter also provides some more background information that I neglected to mention in previous chapters. P.S.: we're about to get to the good stuff now._

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"You know, I'm not as dumb as I look, Liv," Amanda angrily declares as she steps a foot into her lieutenant's office, reluctant and withdrawn, as she plops down onto the colorless, washed-out couch.

Amanda was still engaged in her depression-induced slumber by the time Olivia had texted her last night, but she failed to mention this to her so obviously concerned boss. That is, if you could even count what she was doing last night as sleep. She had jolted awake countless times over the course of the evening, overcome with terror each time she woke up trembling from nightmares, and sweat leaking from every pore of her body. Olivia, however, has been so frazzled by emotion that she has totally convinced herself that the blonde had blatantly ignored her text, just as she did only a day prior. Olivia can't even blame Amanda for the amounts of anger she currently feels radiating off of the tiny woman's body; after all, it was she who ignored a text first. In addition, she thinks, it was she who had frantically rushed out of Amanda's apartment the moment she had sobered up.

The sick parts of Amanda's brain that she continually needs to work at squashing down have made a reappearance; her "addict" brain, as she calls it, recently taking over the majority of her frontal lobe. It's true that she hasn't seen Olivia's text until the next morning—when she was already late to work—but—she also finds a twisted satisfaction in torturing the brunette, taking confidence in the fact that it appears as if she has even a fraction of the power that Olivia so classically holds over her right now.

In the span of less than a day, Olivia's historical walls been catapulted into, and consequently blown down, by a powerful stick of metaphorical dynamite; she is now determined to do everything in her power to work on her relationship with the Amanda.

Sad, dark eyes bore into blue—intending to somehow prove to Amanda that she can still trust her. "I never implied that you were, Amanda," she replies despondently, as she slams the door of her office shut, and peeks an eye over toward Fin, who is staring right back at her, seemingly attempting to burn a hole right through her head. "Have a nice lunch, Fin, she mutters with the roll of her eyes, as she thoughtfully fastens the door's lock and draws the blinds shut.

As soon as Olivia turns around to see the blonde standing across from her, she is nearly knocked over by a wave of panic, totally unprepared for this emotional conversation she is about to have with her coworker. As she walks toward her desk, she feels her limbs quake with fear, impatiently wondering how this is about to play out. She inhales a deep breath, feeling her belly rising in response, and is mindful to suck in as much oxygen as physically possible.

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Amanda Rollins is in love with Olivia Benson.

This is not new information.

Even before she had even met her, Amanda was completely taken aback by Olivia. There was just something about her that struck a chord deep inside of her soul; that something had significantly exceeded her expectations once she finally met her idol. Before moving, Amanda had put in a lot of research in studying both Olivia's cases—and the woman herself, before she put a transfer request in. When they met, it was like a spark had been ignited inside of her soul; she knew she would never be the same. Olivia was different; so different from anyone else she had ever laid eyes on—so smart, so intuitive, so passionate—and it didn't hurt that she was drop-dead gorgeous. These feelings didn't scare her at first; she was used to having romantic feelings for women since she was a teenager. Amanda never felt it necessary to identify as lesbian or bisexual, however; she just liked who she liked—always had—always will. Throughout her life, she has been with both women and men, and although she likes having sex with men occasionally, she feels herself more apt to form romantic feelings for women. Unfortunately, fear did not stay dormant for long.

As soon as they started working together, Olivia seemed to do everything in her power to create as much space between her and Amanda as possible. At their first meeting, when Amanda had confidently and eagerly strutted up to the older woman to introduce herself, with a dopey smile plastered across her face, Olivia had completely brushed her off. She even mistakenly noted that she had transferred from Dallas. Amanda felt hurt and unworthy at this response; to this day, she vividly recalls her pathetic attempt in trying to tamp down her disappointment at Olivia's dismissal. She painfully remembers that frown creeping across her face, without her permission. Realistically, Amanda knew she had to keep in mind that Olivia was grieving the loss of her long-time partner—who had abandoned her so suddenly—and that she shouldn't take the brunette's cold behavior so personally. Sometimes, the healthy rationalization worked, but most of the time, after being treated so coldly for awhile, she felt that Olivia's emotions unfairly got taken out on her—especially as she was climbing the ladder up to become a sergeant, and then as lieutenant.

Nevertheless—even throughout the times that Olivia treated her poorly, or she was on her boss' bad side—her admiration for the beautiful brunette never ceased. Amanda had always clung on to the times when she was lucky enough to see her boss in a softer, more human light; usually occurring while one of them was hurting and needed each other's comfort. In fact, one of the first times Amanda knew she was falling in love with Olivia, was as she admitted to her that she had left Atlanta for one reason in particular: Patton, her ex-boss, had raped her. To this day, Amanda can still reminisce so flawlessly, she can even smell a whiff of Olivia's signature vanilla perfume. Right after her confession, Olivia's facial muscles didn't move in the slightest. She didn't pity her, like she had irrationally feared; in fact, just the opposite. Olivia had displayed unwavering kindness, empathy, compassion, and perhaps most importantly: confidence that she could heal. This interaction was so pleasant, that for a while, Amanda actually felt somewhat motivated enough to believe she could heal from her trauma herself. Although it took a few more years and plenty of more lessons after that previous encounter, Amanda finally feels like she is beginning to heal from everything that happened with Patton. Sometimes—if it's a good day—she'll even feel at peace in her own skin.

Now a bit older and definitely wiser, Amanda has felt her relationship with Olivia slowly flourishing into something that could resemble a friendship; this was made especially apparent to her last week when she bombarded Cassidy inside of Olivia's own apartment, when she stated, "you know I would never go against Liv." It's true. Though she can be intense at times, Amanda tries to be careful not to let her own feelings get in the way of their blooming friendship—she regularly cringes at the thought of having to work so hard to build her boss' trust back up again. This apprehension, in turn, usually prevents her from doing something impulsive, which is a plus.

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Although she doesn't remember much of the past weekend, Amanda knows that she was initially in pain after hearing about her father, and for once in her goddamn life, she was going to do the healthy thing and talk with someone about it _right away_ , instead of ruminating in the sadness at the casino or some sketchy bar; or, perhaps, drowning her sorrows in a bottle of booze. That was the plan, however, until Olivia ignored her cry for help; inevitably initiating a string of old behaviors that she has desperately been trying to grow away from. She also knows that she is the reason Olivia showed up to that shitty bar in the first place; she vaguely recalls exploding on the older woman for ignoring her text message; after that, it's all a bit of a blur. She does, however, remember the familiar feeling of guilt and shame that she used to feel so routinely, as she woke up at home without the knowledge of how she got there, with a gnarly hangover, and a stranger in her bed on a Sunday morning. She had immediately felt immersed in panic until she realized who it was slumbering so peacefully beside her; after she realized it was Olivia, she was in utter disbelief. Careful not to break the older woman's trust any more than she already had, she knew she had do _something,_ so she settled on the quick fix of making her breakfast; which essentially just proved to be the placement of a Band-Aid over a gaping wound. Yet as she stood there, abandoned and alone, after Olivia had fled her apartment in a hysterical run, Amanda felt nothing but anger. She knew the only way to protect herself was to shut down and use her beloved defense mechanisms yet again.

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The first half of their day was nothing short of incredibly awkward; Amanda made sure to ignore her boss as much as humanly possible; occasionally taking the time to shoot a dirty glare at Olivia, who was always looking right back at her through her office window. Each time she caught her staring, Amanda internally took a sick pleasure in the fact that the woman she loves couldn't keep her eyes off of her, regardless of the reason.

Luckily, a new case arrived shortly after the start of her shift, so Amanda spent a majority of her morning out in the field with Carisi talking with a victim and her mother, channeling all of her anger and sick thoughts into the criminal she was determined to take down.

Amanda's luck ended far too soon, however, when they arrived back to the precinct around noon, just in time for lunch. Only a few moments after she had shrugged off her coat and slumped down dejectedly into her chair—her limbs keenly resembling jelly—and her mind so far from her present environment—she was interrupted.

"Amanda. Join me in my office?" Olivia probed, as she gestured a hand toward her office.

Without missing a beat, Fin had glanced over toward Amanda and nodded his head in more characteristic omniscience; symbolizing that he knew she wasn't in trouble, and she was being called to work out whatever the hell happened between the two of them on Saturday evening. "Good luck," he stated assuredly, a smile tugging at the corners of his mouth. "Fuck off," Amanda replied back with a deceiving smirk—as if she was kidding—but secretly feeling sick of everything and everyone at this point.

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Currently, Amanda is seated uncomfortably at the end of the couch in Olivia's office, staring vehemently at the older woman who is perched just as uncomfortably at her desk across the small room.

"'Manda," Olivia begins, "I'm sorry. I'm so sorry." She shakes her head, tousling her brown locks in a beautiful manner, and holds up a hand to wipe a tear falling from her eye.

Still seething, Amanda responds with the roll of her eyes and a short puff. She is a little taken aback by her own ability not be so transparent in front of the older woman; her feelings of embarrassment and anger clearly winning over wanting to maintain her friendship with the older woman at this point. "It's whatever, Liv."

Olivia is both heartbroken and surprised at Amanda's defensiveness. Her mouth drops open in response; her legs are flying up and down in anxiety, knocking against the bottom of her desk in an audible sound. It takes every ounce of willpower that she has not to run over to the blonde sitting on her couch and wrap her in a tight embrace. Inside of her head is a war zone; Olivia is mentally beating herself up for spending so many years of her life concerned with things that don't even seem to matter anymore. Although she had a rough start with Amanda, she has grown to adore the younger woman just as much as she knows Amanda adores her. She is also fully aware that Amanda has been through so much in her short life; she is frequently overcome with respect and admiration for the detective's strength. Olivia is now confident in knowing she doesn't want to go another day without being a part of Amanda's life. She feels as though the combination of seeing Cassidy last week, coming to terms with her past relationships, and spending the night with the drunken blonde has all blended together exquisitely to lead her to this point; she's no confused, or afraid to admit to herself, at least, that she has romantic feelings for Amanda. Romantic feelings, that were, in fact, always there; now, they are at the forefront of her brain, they are strong, and they are not going away anytime soon.

"It's not 'whatever,'" Olivia verbally replies in an exasperated sigh. "I need you to know that you can trust me, sweetheart…"

"Don't call me sweetheart," Amanda bites back, desperately trying to keep the own tears forming in her sweet, cerulean eyes at bay, as she hears herself speak to the woman she loves so harshly.

As she briefly ruminates on her sharp response, Amanda comes to realize that although Olivia did ignore her initially, she really has no right to be angry. After all, she did text her _boss_ on a Saturday, and after she had manipulated her to join them at the bar, _and_ yelled at her. And _still,_ even after this awful treatment, Olivia made sure she was safe by driving her home, or at least she assumes; she stayed the night with her, and, she noticed, that Frannie had been fed and taken out.

Amanda is astounded that these rational thoughts had been able to protrude past the sick thoughts swimming around in her mind; she is sure they are nothing short of divine intervention. She had been completely coated in her own pain, after hearing of her father's suicide, and being abandoned by the woman she loves so much, that she couldn't see it from Olivia's perspective; she couldn't see "her part" in the story, as her sponsor would say. Usually, Amanda uses her sponsor to point these things out to her—but—she's been ignoring the wise woman for a couple weeks now. She mentally thanks God for having her back, and finds the will to speak.

"My Daddy committed suicide."

Olivia's eyes bug open so wide, Amanda is afraid they might burst out of her head. "What? Oh my god, Amanda!" she gasps, "I'm so sorry, when? Oh my god, I can't believe that's what you needed to talk to me about. I left! Oh my god. 'Manda. Are you okay?"

Amanda interjects, "Wow, are you done?" with a hint of humor in her tone.

Although Olivia faces the worst parts of humanity and some of the most tragic stories in existence on a daily basis, she can't believe the fact that this is what Amanda had initially reached out to her about, and she ignored her. Even worse, when Amanda tried to bring it up again, she left! She feels so overcome with guilt, she has to tamp down the urge to dry heave and "shush" the noises emitting from her stomach by coughing loudly.

"It's okay, Liv. Really. I found out last week, just after everything happened with Cassidy. He killed himself last Monday. I didn't want to bother you, and honestly, it's not that big of a deal."

"Can you explain that a little more?" Olivia questions in concern, "you didn't even ask for a day off."

"I didn't need to, and I still don't," Amanda replies. "I didn't go to the funeral."

Olivia is so confused by this statement; she actually and instinctually lifts a hand over her head and begins scratching. Her normally chocolate brown eyes have turned the color of coal, and the skin on her face is as white as snow.

"I don't know," Amanda continues. "Maybe I haven't processed it yet, but the thing is, though, Liv…I'm not really that sad. I think I'm kind of happy."

"What? Why, honey?" she urgently demands. "Shit," she immediately corrects, "why, Amanda? Why are you happy?"

"He wasn't a good man, Liv," Amanda states, cobalt eyes now jutting deep into pools of coal.

"Okay…" she trails off, cautious not to say anything inappropriate at her co-worker's strange admittance. "Well, Amanda, I'm here, okay? Anytime you need to talk, or vent, or cry, I'm here," she states assertively. "And I promise, this time, I won't leave." She is briefly reminded of yesterday's events once more, and her jaw locks in tension in retort.

Amanda can sense Olivia's obvious discomfort, and precipitously feels the need to calm her. She gracefully slides off the couch and pads over to the frozen woman sitting completely upright in her chair, all the while maintaining a very calm composure. Olivia is flabbergasted at Amanda's cool demeanor, but before she can react, she feels her heart leaping in her chest, as Amanda leans her hip against the desk. There is suddenly virtually no space between the two of them, and Olivia is dazed in a mixture of emotions—ranging from worried sick—to turned on.

Amanda's baby-soft hands grace the older woman's shaking upper limbs, massaging them to stillness.

"He made my childhood pretty rough, okay? I know it's bad not to be upset by my own daddy's death, especially since he fuckin' hung himself, but I'm just not. He made me want to hang myself every day when I was a kid. I had no safe place."

For the first time in her life, Olivia replies tersely, and without a second thought.

"Let _me_ be your safe place, Amanda."


	10. Chapter 10

_A/N: This chapter does NOT pick up right where the previous left off, but it's pretty close. I've written a majority of these chapters from Liv's perspective, so in this chapter, we get a closer look into Amanda's childhood, and an in-depth view at how she is coping with her father's suicide. Trigger warning for mentions of suicide. **You are not alone: National Suicide Prevention Lifeline (24/7): 1-800-273-8255.**_

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It's Tuesday morning, and Amanda Rollins presently finds herself astounded at the fact that she is voluntarily attending therapy for the first time in her life. She had been mandated to therapy a couple of times before throughout her short time at Manhattan's Special Victims Unit, but she was never able to open her mind up enough to the possibility of receiving help from anything other than a casino or a bottle. This time, however—after another traumatic event has plunged its way into her life without warning—something feels different.

She suspects that what is different stems from her growing relationship with her beautiful superior, Lieutenant Olivia Benson: a woman she has idolized and pined after for so long, and is only beginning to scratch the surface on as friends. After Olivia had nearly melted the stoic blonde's heart into a puddle with her response to her father's suicide, Amanda had felt comfortable enough to mention that she had played around with the idea of seeing Dr. Lindstrom for a few sessions. Though she isn't devastated, Amanda feels absolutely dedicated to bettering herself lately, and she figures her father's suicide is a good enough reason to seek out some therapy. The smile that so blatantly plastered itself across the brunette's face was enough to make Amanda's skin prickle with goose bumps, and fill her insides with a warm, blissful heat. Due to the brunette's uncharacteristic, giddy response, Amanda consented to seeing someone. Olivia was more than willing to send in another referral to her trusted therapist, and Dr. Lindstrom happily obliged to give Amanda another chance at healing.

Shortly after her confession to Olivia, Amanda was able to put on a brave face for the rest of the day and stick to her earlier admission of not caring about her father's suicide. As soon as she left the building, however, and started walking to her car in solitude, she fell into a pit of despair. Suddenly, the same streetlamps and the same cracks in the same sidewalks she had grown so accustomed to over the past seven years seemed foreign to her; it was as if she was a visitor in her own mind. She felt her body heave with loss, stumbling in a grief-filled daze as she tried to locate her vehicle. At that moment, a space had been cut into her heart; a piece of her soul evaporated in a way she had never experienced before.

She had spent the remainder of her evening sorting through old photos of her father that she has shamefully kept tucked underneath her bed for many years now; sobbing as she listened to his favorite records on repeat, and feeling rather safe wrapped inside his torn, extra-large, red, plaid shirt. It didn't take long for the guilt of not attending his funeral to set in once she was acquainted with the tangible images of his face; although he was awful to her, he was still her daddy. And, before she was old enough for him to start hating her, and for her to notice how screwed up her family truly was, she remembers spending most of her days outside in a hazy bliss. She remembers just how perfect her peaceful, ranch-styled home in Georgia truly was; sure, it was tiny, but just roomy enough to fit her mother, father, Kim, and herself in a cozy paradise. She remembers the way a soft, gentle breeze would sort through the wisps of her short, blonde tresses on a warm summer day, until she inevitably resorted to hiding her head underneath a ratty baseball cap. She remembers the sound of her mother's voice, yelling at her for getting mud on a recently pressed pair of pants, after digging around in the dirt to collect worms. She remembers the scent of peach trees and blueberry pie lingering in the air. _That damn pie,_ she remembers—its intoxicating smell always taunting her—always sitting so picturesquely atop the kitchen windowsill—just like a storybook. She remembers just how free she felt, running through the tall blades of grass in her big, flat backyard—without the weight of the world on her shoulders—screaming at the top of her lungs into the open air, and giggling as she chased her wobbly, baby sister around, who could barely walk at that point.

Somehow, his shirt still smelled of cigars and his favorite brand of whisky.

The strange, psychological feeling that she had somehow managed to take up residence outside of her own body had not dissipated until the late hours of the evening; it took everything she had in her to not pop open a bottle of her own favorite brand of whisky to drown her ceaseless sorrows. She decided to indulge in staring at the bottle for a while, imagining in detail just how wonderful it would feel to take a swig and feel it travel down her throat; frequently licking her lips in response to her fantasy as the mossy green bottle, with its perfectly formed black and red lettering taunted her with temptation. Luckily, the regretful weekend she had just experienced with Olivia, was enough to keep her from repeating the same behavior—at least for the night.

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Amanda slumps down deeper into the expensive couch cushions she is currently splayed out across, feeling her back mold to the fabric as her legs flow outward in defiance and childlike insubordination. "Oh, come _on,_ " she pompously bellows with the roll of her eyes when they meet the cheesy quote nailed in a wooden picture frame placed diagonally across from her. _Like that's gonna help,_ she internally remarks; her stomach rolling in knots and her temples hammering with pain as she awkwardly shifts her body to find a comfortable position.

Still—even amongst all of the motivation and support she feels from Olivia—the woman she is in love with—her "addict brain" is convincing her that she should feel ashamed to even be in such close proximity to a therapist. Maybe it's the Southern influence, but she's never felt comfortable asking for help; in fact, she was usually the one tending to everyone else—her mom, Kim, her father—even when she was a little girl. Internally, Amanda is trying to decide if she should make the same choice she did a couple years ago, and make a run for it straight out of Dr. Lindstrom's office. She feels herself being infinitely mocked by the physical characteristics of the office; the light-blue walls coated in inspirational quotes, a varied selection of dark green houseplants, and a pathetically small tray of peppermints sitting on the coffee table anterior to her. She is in such a haze that she nearly jumps out of her skin as Dr. Lindstrom opens up his office door to greet her, right on time.

"Amanda," he positively states with a hearty smile and the extension of his hand for a handshake. "I'm so glad you could make it." It takes everything in Amanda's power not to roll her eyes at his obviously practiced and fake demeanor, and her brain even convinces her well enough to detect a hint of sarcasm in his voice.

"Y-yeah…" she replies uneasily, weakly shaking his hand back in hesitation. He then uses his upper limbs to motion for her to get up and join him in the room across from where she is seated; eventually she does, but not without a pout on her face and her arms crossed in rebellion.

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The classy, Roman-Numeral numbered clock that is perched high above Dr. Lindstrom's head reads 9:13 a.m. as Amanda checks it for what must be the hundredth time. So far, her session today has been a dull "check-in day," as Dr. Lindstrom had originally titled it. She is, however, feeling utterly aghast at how many personal questions he's asking her: where she grew up, about her family, her friends, her schooling, and so on. She feels herself starting to shut down mentally, and she is now confident that coming here was a horrible mistake.

"So," he remarks, abruptly breaking the looming silence. "I'm reading here, on the new client form, that you wrote you struggle with a gambling addiction. Can you tell me a little more about that? Is that something you'd like to work on while you're here?" Amanda is seated restlessly across from him in a brown, leather chair; he is looking high and mighty relaxing comfortably from behind his desk, eyes scanning the paper forms in hand.

"Yuh already know I'm here because of my daddy," she seethes. "How about you mind your own goddamn business? _That's_ what I'd like us to work on."

His face remains unchanged; likely due to the multitude of years he has spent as a professional in the mental health field, and has probably faced much worse. "Okay Amanda," he lightly counters. "Tell me about your daddy." His voice is soothing and calm, and it bothers her that he—a grown man—is using the word "daddy."

Resolute to keep an open mind, she lets out a deep exhale she wasn't aware she was holding, and the smile that shined across Olivia's face when she had mentioned going to therapy in the first place permeates into her brain. _Ugh, that smile,_ she internally recalls. Olivia's smile; it's enough to keep her hanging on, at least for the next half hour. After that, she is free to go, and never return to this nosy man's office. "My daddy was a sick man," she lets out, overcome with self-consciousness and disbelief that she's actually talking to someone about her family. If her father ever knew that _she, Amanda Rollins, was speaking ill of his name, he would have had his way with her_ , she thinks.

"Why was he a sick man, Amanda?" Dr. Lindstrom asks in a non-judgmental tone, still maintaining a calm and soothing voice that annoys the shit out of the blonde detective at the moment.

"He just…he was…okay?" she exhales. "He liked what I like…or…I like what he liked," she confusedly responds, twirling blonde strands of hair between the tips of her fingers as she anxiously moves around the seat of the chair.

"Gambling?" he prods.

"Yeah. Gambling," she reluctantly replies. "Money. Winning. Fighting. Booze. Women. We're not so different, I guess," she verbally realizes, still fidgeting with her hair and biting the top of her lip.

"But he killed himself. And you're alive." His statement is so deliberate, so palpable, that Amanda immediately feels like she's going to be sick. She pushes down the wave of nausea climbing up her thorax with unabated anger, shifting her body position from slacked to defensive.

"Ha, alive," she humorlessly laughs. "Yeah, so what? Everybody wants to kill themselves; it's just the matter of who's brave enough to actually go through with it." His eyes bore into her listless, cobalt orbs, which are now glazed over with a sickening film. "I gotta admit, though," she continues with a light chuckle, "props to him; hanging yourself is a pretty gnarly way to go."

"Amanda, I hope you know that's not true. That's not healthy thinking; typically, people don't walk around thinking about suicide," he replies with detectable concern. "Do you?"

She already knows that this question is a trap; she knows that if she admits to how she _really_ feels about this question, her badge and gun will be taken away before she even has the chance to defend herself. "No…not…really," she states. "I guess…" she grudgingly continues, "I guess it's just nice to know that it's an option, ya know?" "Like," she resumes, "if things ever got really bad, it's nice to know I'd have a way out."

After Amanda is suddenly cognizant with the awareness that her mind has been operating this way for as long as she can remember, she feels herself stop breathing. It feels like the foot of an elephant is pressing on her chest, crushing her tiny sternum with thousands of heavy, truth-filled pounds. She blinks the materializing tears out of her eyes and averts her gaze to study the essential oil diffuser spewing scents of lavender into the room. _Like that's supposed to fuckin' help right now,_ she reflects.

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Amanda is dizzy and winded with nerves as she stumbles out of the elevator onto the first floor of the medical building. She had unwillingly scheduled another appointment with Dr. Lindstrom; desperately grasping onto thoughts of Olivia's smile and just how proud she was of her for even inquiring about therapy, as she did so. As soon as Amanda pads her way into the lobby, she is greeted with the sweet sight of Lieutenant Olivia Benson holding a colorful bouquet of flowers, waiting for her. "How was it?" the brunette gently asks as Amanda makes her way up to the beautiful, older woman and accepts the gift. "I'm so proud of you, 'Manda," she continues without a response; her lips forming a faint smile as she extends her right arm to wrap the blonde detective closer to her body in a comforting, half-hug. Amanda is left breathless at her boss' sweet gesture, so much so, that she can't bring herself to speak. "Sweetheart…how was it?" Olivia inquires again, this time allowing the pet name to fall from her lips without a second thought. The older woman continues to squeeze Amanda closer to herself, brown tresses gracing the blonde's shoulders as the strands fall onto her.

Again, Amanda gravely struggles to keep the tears in her eyes at bay as she feels the older woman's sincere embrace spread across her entire being. She also finds herself very thankful that it's still chilly outside, and that she's wearing long-sleeves, because her arms are presently littered in goose bumps in response to Olivia's touch. "It was…interesting," she finally mutters, so lowly that Olivia has to ask her to repeat herself. Suddenly, the thought dawns on her that it's just past 10 a.m. on a Tuesday, and her boss is snuggled up against her in public, instead of maintaining her usual, tough demeanor at the precinct. "Liv, shouldn't you be at work?" Amanda blankly prods, careful not to seem ungrateful at her boss' unexpected and unnecessary support.

"So I took an early lunch," Olivia shrugs with a tender smile and a hint of mischievousness in her voice. "I'm the boss; I can do what I want."

Amanda rolls her eyes at the older woman's characteristic buoyancy, and gives Olivia's side a tight squeeze. Her heart is suddenly filling with so love and gratitude, that it becomes impossible to hold the tears back. As chocolate eyes gaze into piercing blue, Amanda allows slow, clear tears to roll down her cheeks; feeling safe in the fact that the woman she is crying in front of is the woman she can trust with her life. "I'm so proud of you," Olivia quietly repeats, as she places a soft kiss atop Amanda's blonde crown and prompts them start walking. The two women stride out of the building and into the bitter cold, kept warm by the fact that they are wrapped up in each other's arms. Amanda can't actually believe this is happening; after all these years, and after all of the trauma they have both faced, something has shifted.

"Thanks for coming, Liv," Amanda genuinely expresses as the two of them have unenthusiastically retreated to physically splitting apart in an attempt to hail down a cab in the midst of mid-morning traffic. "Sweetheart…of course…" the older woman perplexingly responds. "You're gonna be okay, you know that?" Olivia continues, her once seemingly endless smile now turning to a frown when she sees Amanda's forehead wrinkle in response to her simple question. "Come here. Hold my hand," Olivia carelessly states, motioning for the young detective to inch closer to her.

"I have a long way to go," Amanda confirms as she links her cold fingers with Olivia's bigger, warmer digits.

"Maybe" Olivia immediately replies, "but you have me. And since you have me, nothing's gonna hurt you, baby."


	11. Chapter 11

_A/N: Sorry for the delay! School has been crazy this week. Originally, chapter 11 was going to be very long, but I decided to break it up into two chapters, because the second half of this chapter gets pretty dark and I still need some time to edit. I didn't want to make y'all wait any longer though! Chapter 12 will be posted tomorrow! Enjoy this informative filler._

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Much to Amanda's dismay, who didn't want to take up any more of Olivia's time than she already had, the older woman was adamant about making sure Amanda got home from her therapy appointment safely. Although every fiber of Olivia's being had wanted to beg Amanda to come back to work for the day, the professional older woman knew she had to convince the detective—as her boss—and as her…friend—to take the rest of the day off. Although Amanda had resisted at first, her usual stubborn nature eventually came out in full, characteristic force, and she ultimately complied.

Olivia had had ridden back to Amanda's apartment alongside the younger woman in a dingy, foul-smelling cab; for some reason, their cab driver thought it was appropriate to play the saddest of all artists—Johnny Cash—for the duration of their ride. Respecting the fact that it was _his_ cab, Olivia compensated for the heart-wrenching music by holding onto the uncharacteristically quiet, younger woman tightly for the entire ride. Although Amanda had felt a little guilty for taking Olivia away from work, she ultimately decided that her boss is a big girl who can make her own choices; thus, she remained out-of-her- mind-happy at their situation, longing to remain in that space forever. She wasn't sure if things could get more perfect: her tiny, tense body gradually becoming more relaxed as the cab ride progressed, feeling totally safe wrapped inside the strong arms of the woman she loves.

The woman she loves—and has loved for so long—who had never so much as given her anything beyond a quick pat on the shoulder before this past weekend. With each passing block, the smell of Olivia's signature, vanilla scent sweetly filled her nostrils; sunrays streamed through the dirty windows, dreamily illuminating the highlights in both of their hair. Although the thoughts of her former therapy session were looming dangerously around in her mind, Amanda tried her best to tamp them down, all-too-aware that she would be reacquainted with her demons once she got home, and was ardent on fully enjoying this rare moment with Olivia.

The instant Olivia saw that Amanda was safely inside of her building, the impulse to reach out to the blonde became impossibly overpowering. The older woman watched Amanda walk to the elevator through the tall, glass windows in front of her building; her mind disoriented with dizzying thoughts. _Should I have really gone into work late for this? What if somebody says something? I had a doctor appointment. No; fuck that. It's none of their business, anyways. God, she looks so pretty, even while she's hurting. Especially while she's hurting. How could I go from "Rollins," to "sweetheart," in such a short period of time? Well…it's been seven years. Am I…a lesbian? Since when do I…fall for women? She's not just any woman. She's Amanda Rollins. Amanda Rollins. Amanda Rollins…how could I…think about her in that way while I was in the bath…? What if she ever found out that I did that? She'd be disgusted; mortified. She cares about me…she adores me…but she doesn't love me like I love her._

"L…Love," Olivia now stutters aloud, feeling a kaleidoscope of emotions reside in her core at this first-time admittance. Amanda probably didn't even make it into her apartment before the brunette sent her first text:

"Just so you don't forget, I am so proud of you. Let me know how you feel once you get settled in. Xo, Liv."

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It wasn't until Olivia was already back at the precinct; uneasily shifting around in the once comfortable chair at her desk, indolently scanning her glassy eyes over some paperwork, when she is finally graced with a reply from the Amanda.

"Thanks, Liv. You don't need to worry. I'm OK."

Olivia runs a pair of sweaty hands through her dark hair, and exhales a loud, exasperated sigh as she nervously peers at her wristwatch, feeling extremely disappointed when she realizes that it is nowhere near the end of her workday. And, of course, being the caring, protective lieutenant that she is, she is nowhere near satisfied with Amanda's short response.

The lieutenant taps gently against the screen of her phone, eager to appear outwardly calm, fearful that one of her squad mates will catch her acting out of the ordinary. Outwardly composed, but internally dying, and desperate for proof that Amanda is holding up.

"Are you sure you're okay? From what you told me in the cab, it seemed like an intense session and I wouldn't blame you for feeling overwhelmed, sweetheart. What are you doing right now?"

Very shortly after her text delivers, three little dots appear under their conversation, implying that Amanda is already typing her response. Olivia is over-the-moon with how quickly the blonde responds to her; subconsciously still feeling traces of paranoia that she will not be able to earn Amanda's trust back, after she didn't respond to her first text message on Saturday night.

"Cuddled up on the couch with Frannie. Watching Netflix. Drinking coffee (and nothing else). Don't worry, Liv."

Olivia remains unsatisfied with her response, with an evil, worried panic is gnawing at her core. She makes the executive decision to cautiously prod deeper—careful not to make Amanda feel like she is being too nosy—yet finding herself unable to ignore the subtle tension in the detective's short messages.

"What are you two ladies watching?"

Her phone remains radio silent for quite some time—which promptly sends Olivia down into an unintentional spiral of panic, unable to grasp any ounce of control over her own emotions. She is utterly irritated by this fact, and scrubs her hands over her face in frustration. She internally ponders if she should close the blinds in her office; certain that one of her subordinates will now realize how distraught she really is at the moment. Amanda doesn't torture her for too long, however, and the brunette's brain is caked in relief when she sees "1 iMessage from Amanda Rollins" flash across the screen of her now-locked iPhone.

"'Children of the Corn.'"

Olivia involuntarily shudders in response to another short text message, and at Amanda's strange choice in film; ever since she was a little girl, the seemingly tough lieutenant has been painfully terrified of scary movies. She hates to admit this, and rarely does; she can't have the entire squad of brave cops and detectives under her supervision knowing that their no-nonsense, usually strong boss cringes merely at the thought of ghouls and zombies.

"Well…" she begins to type, feeling a wave of self-consciousness wash over her with the power of a tsunami, "that's certainly an interesting choice for someone who is supposed to be relaxing," she continues, adding a winky-face at the end to break some of the awkwardness.

Amanda replies more punctually this time, consequently shattering Olivia's heart into a million little pieces when she scans the notification. "Those demons, Liv. Sometimes, it's nice to watch something more fucked up than your own life."

Olivia is again overcome with the instinctual yearning to run over to Amanda's apartment and wrap her in her arms until the younger woman feels happy again. Rationally, Olivia knows that she cannot provide Amanda the healing she so urgently needs to work for herself; however, she'll be damned if she doesn't try. The brunette internally chastises herself for _always_ wanting to heal everyone else's pain, while paying such little attention to her own; in fact, that's one of the "character defects" she and Dr. Lindstrom have been discussing for her to work on. Old habits die hard, however, and Olivia internally hopes that she can provide her suffering detective with an adequate amount of comfort. She is nervous, though, that if Amanda ever fully opens up to her about her past, she won't be able to hold it together herself. In turn, the struggle to quickly wipe the tears leaking from her eyes in response to Amanda's text message overcomes her, as Carisi knocks at her office door, inquiring about a current case.

"Hey Lieu," he sheepishly states, gingerly stepping a foot into her office, "are you okay?"


	12. Chapter 12

_A/N: Again—sorry for the delay! I got the first half of this done last night, but I wanted to put everything I had into the second part of this chapter (now Ch. 12), because that's what it deserves. This chapter contains major trigger warnings for detailed mentions of rape, abuse, and suicide. PLEASE do not read this if you are at risk for being triggered._ _ **And remember, you are not alone: National Suicide Prevention Lifeline (24/7): 1-800-273-8255.**_

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The rest of Olivia's shift had been filled with astronomical amounts of anxiety; it seemed as though nothing could diminish the high levels of cortisol plaguing her brain. After Carisi had barged in on her crying, Olivia was again crass with the caring young man, who just wanted to help, just as she had been on Saturday night when he interrupted her conversation with Amanda. The brunette felt a little guilty, but even countless vain attempts to take deep breaths couldn't calm her, and she is both too physically and emotionally exhausted to really care about anything other than Amanda Rollins today. The lieutenant tried her best to remain present for both her colleagues and the victims she was dealing with for the remainder of her day, but to no avail.

Amanda and Olivia had remained texting each other throughout the rest of Olivia's shift, but that just didn't seem to be enough to settle the usually independent, older woman, who ordinarily appreciates her solitude. Olivia is completely frustrated with just how clingy she feels toward Amanda lately, especially with how frequently her chaotic mind played tricks on her each time the younger woman didn't text back right away. With another attempt to calm her nervous system by taking a deep breath and focusing on something she can hear, see, and touch, Olivia is subsequently relieved when she sees Fin and Carisi starting to pack up their belongings, meaning it is _finally_ the end of their workday. As she begins to gather up her purse and shrugs on a lengthy, grey-colored pea coat over her shoulders, her phone buzzes again, which promptly sends her already-jumpy body into a something like a state of shock.

"Can you come over?"

The text from the younger woman is so simple, and so short, that Olivia needs to re-read it twice more to fully grasp the magnitude it contains. She feels a heat blooming in her cheeks and her heart hammering against her ribs as she speedily taps her fingers over the keyboard to reply "Absolutely. Be there in thirty."

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As soon as Olivia steps off the elevator and walks toward Amanda's apartment, her ears are greeted with the sounds of muffled sobs and heavy panting as she inches closer to the door. Olivia intuitively _knew_ that the younger woman had been silently grieving; no matter how much she denied it or tried to put on a brave face. Overcome with guilt for going back to work today, she softly places her head against the dark-stained wood; tears streaming down her cheeks as clumps of brunette strands soak against her neck. She chokes back a loud sob as listens more closely at Amanda's pain. "Okay, Liv," she whispers out loud to herself, "put your own goddamn feelings _aside_. Your girl needs you right now." She inhales three, quiet breaths, and emotionally readies herself for what's waiting inside.

"'M…'Manda?" Olivia lightly prods, tapping the tips of her fingernails against the wood in lieu of a full knock, careful not to startle the emotional detective. "It's me, sweetheart…it's Liv."

The older woman loudly exhales sigh of relief and uses the sleeve of her coat to wipe the tears from her cheeks when she hears a figure get up from what she assumes is the couch, and pad across the floor toward the entrance of the apartment. As soon as Amanda unhooks the pad-lock and the door is opened, Olivia has to consciously work to keep her face unexpressive, once she sees how sick and sad the tiny blonde looks.

"Hey, sweetheart," Olivia whispers to the tear-stricken, shaking detective as she grabs the tiny body into her arms, "it's okay, I'm here." The younger woman is clad in nothing but a little pair of Soffe shorts and a white tank top, leaving little to Olivia's imagination; however, she tries to cram down the rising arousal she feels blooming in between her thighs as she comforts her devastated detective. Amanda's usually polished and straight blonde hair has morphed into a hybrid of a half-bun, half-down bird's nest; there are strands sticking up and out from all over, which only amplifies just how sick she looks. Any makeup she was wearing previously earlier in the day has streaked down her face from crying so much; mascara and eyeliner clumped into little, chunky hills in the purple rings underneath her tired eyes.

Olivia eventually musters up enough strength to shut the heavy door of the apartment, and guides Amanda over to the couch, where Frannie sits, anxiously awaiting the two distressed women. As soon as they clumsily stumble down onto the comfortable, sinking piece of furniture, Amanda slumps right back into Olivia's arms, just like how she had taken up residence earlier that day in the cab. It's only happened a few times now, but Amanda—even through her grief—recognizes just how thankful she is for her boss, who has made no qualms in tending to her throughout this difficult period of her life. The blonde also realizes she is still crying, and has no intention to stop. Olivia finds herself desperately wanting to interrogate the younger woman; feeling herself impossibly inhibited with worry and panic as she continues to listen to the strangled sobs coming from Amanda's mouth placed directly underneath her own head. She hesitates, though, and allows the younger woman to continue crying for as long as she pleases. Again, it takes everything she has in her for Olivia to tamp down her own heartbreak at this situation; much to her dismay, tiny tears escape from her dark, chocolate orbs, and end up gliding down her cheeks and into Amanda's blonde, messy hair.

Once Amanda finally regains control of her breath, and the tears have dwindled from rivers into soft streams, she is absolutely mortified when she becomes conscious of her current situation. She had been having an intense panic attack that lasted from shortly after the time she got home, up until now, and instead of handling it herself—or—with a bottle of Jameson, she had done exactly what she had vowed _not_ to do again—place her burdens onto the woman she loves. "Liv…" the blonde murmurs, "I feel…I feel really guilty."

"Why do you feel guilty?" Olivia raggedly exhales. "Talk to me, honey, please," she continues, fastening her grip around the younger woman's unsteady arms. The younger woman doesn't reply right away, and Olivia's eyes suddenly widen in response to the demonic-like possession overtaking Amanda's usual soft, blue orbs.

Instantaneously, Amanda scrambles out of her superior's embrace, and hurriedly contorts her lower limbs into a cross-legged position to sit across from the baffled older woman on the couch. "You ever think that God would actually _want_ us to kill ourselves, Liv?" she frantically asks, glazed-over blue boring into widened brown. "He made it so easy," she chuckles. "The carotid artery. Easy access. One cut and you're done!"

Olivia is as confused as she is worried, now, and struggles to keep herself from impulsively wrapping Amanda in another embrace yet again.

"As much as I hate to admit it, though, I really do admire daddy for how he offed himself. Hangin' yourself—that takes guts, Liv. I think if I were to finally do it, I'd be a wimp about it, and just slice my wrists and swallow a whole buncha pills."

"Amanda, please don't say things like that," Olivia dolefully begs.

Amanda can't hear her, however, her mind now miles away, drowning in painful memories. "Ya know…" the blonde trails off, eyes now glaring at the corner of the ceiling in disassociation. "What happened with Patton…it was bad…it was…it was one of the worst things to ever happen to me…but I learned that it wasn't my fault."

"No, sweetheart, of course, that wasn't your fault," Olivia consoles, cracks in her voice as her eyes spill more tears. "That could _never_ be your fault."

"I know, Liv," Amanda promptly replies. "But ya know…what my daddy used to do to me…I deserved it."

Amanda is still staring off into space, but instinctually inches a little closer to the older woman, whose hands are now clasped tight in a knot in front of her heart center. "I don't know what I ever did to make him hate me so much…" the younger woman goes on.

" _Amanda_ ," Olivia assertively states, "what did your father do to you? Please, can you just tell me?"

Although Amanda is miles away, she internally feels a tinge of guilt as she realizes she is beginning to open up; however, she is confident in the fact she can trust the woman sitting across from her with absolute certainty. "I think the better question, Liv, is what didn't he do to me?" Amanda averts her gaze from the ceiling to bore into Olivia's still-wide, coal-colored eyes. "I wasn't even six years old before he started to hit me. He…he loved to hit me…almost as much as he loved money, and other women, and booze, and…hitting my mom."

"'Manda," Olivia replies soothingly, lifting a finger to trail across the blonde's shaking hand, "I'm so sorry." Amanda draws in a shaky breath, and continues to word-vomit, as she typically calls it.

"Before my parents split, the judge decided to have them try a 'nesting period,'" she states with an angry chuckle. "Just another prime example of the United States Government failing those who are too vulnerable to protect themselves. I was twelve years old; can you think of a worse age for your parents to tell you they're getting divorced?"

 _Fuck this,_ Olivia internally notes, before she grabs ahold of both of the younger woman's hands.

"Liv, please. Let me finish, before I shut down again," Amanda responds, pulling away, and shifting her weight to stand up to pace back and forth across the length of the couch.

"The nesting period," she snickers again. "That's when it was the worst. I remember it like it was yesterday. The family court system decided that it would be a good idea for separating parents to take turns leaving the house, instead of making the kids leave multiple times a week. On Monday, Wednesday, Friday, mom stayed home with Kim and I; Tuesday and Thursday, we were with daddy. They alternated weekends."

Olivia nods her head in response, listening so intently, like her life depends on it. "Where did they stay when they weren't at home?" she asks, thoughtfully.

"My mom stayed with my grandma," Amanda replies. "I never knew where daddy was when it wasn't his day. I hated weekends with him, Liv…they were always the worst."

"Why, honey? Why were they the worst?" Olivia echoes, internally chastising herself for grabbing ahold of Amanda's hands without her permission a few moments earlier.

"Daddy was always angry that he had to stay home with us on a weekend. He would torture me until I either called my mom, begging her to come home—or the police, which always resulted in my mom coming home anyways." Amanda clasps her head in her hands, plucking blonde hair from the messy hybrid away from her face, the strands coated in wet tears.

"Do you need a break, 'Manda?" Olivia feebly whispers to the detective, who is still anxiously pacing—trying her best not to knock over Frannie—who is following her owner's every move. Amanda shakes her head no, and finds the will to keep speaking.

"I wasn't the best student, but I tried to at least do my homework when I wasn't taking care of Kim. On daddy's weekends, after I put her to bed, I would try to study. Daddy didn't like that," she remarks with a shudder.

"There was this one time…" Amanda trails off, tangling her hands together in a giant knot, squeezing her fingers so tight that Olivia can see white forming on her skin. "This one time…he was so drunk…and he was so angry, Liv. He was _so, so angry_. I locked my door, I swear I locked it; but our house was so old that he could easily break it down. That one time…he kicked it in…I was so scared that I was shaking…and he hit me so hard, I passed out."

"Jesus, Amanda, I'm _so_ sorry…" Olivia sheepishly replies, unsure of how to comfort her devastated friend.

Amanda closes her eyes and nods her head in response, attempting to choke back some more tears. "I woke up with dried blood under my nose and without my shorts on," she manages to utter. "I don't remember what happened. That was the only time I woke up not knowing where my underwear was…but he hit me Liv, he hit me so goddamn hard," she states, letting out a raspy exhale. "I really don't know what I did to deserve that. He hit me all of the goddamn time. But I figure…good people don't deserve stuff like that…so I must not be good."

" _Amanda,_ " Olivia angrily retorts, " _you are good._ You are one of the best people I know."

"Yeah," the blonde pathetically chuckles, "that's what Patton told me too; I was his 'good girl,' remember?"

Immediately, Olivia profusely apologies for her poor choice in words; utterly aghast at how she could possibly forget the magnitude they contain. However, Amanda is so deep inside of her latent memory, she isn't offended in the slightest.

"I was so happy when the nesting period was over, and daddy moved out for good. I only saw him one time after that, but that's a story for another day…" she trails off, internally deciding if she would like to continue with this conversation, as if she has a choice in the words furiously spilling from her mouth. "We moved in with my grandma. Bless her heart. She had dementia, so it was actually probably a good thing that we started to live with her. I wish I could say that's when things got better…but…that's when my mom started to spin out of control. I was still the only one there for Kim." "And myself," she corrects.

"Honey…" Olivia begins to remark, before she left breathless and crying. She rapidly shakes her head back and forth, in an attempt to snap herself out of it. "I…I am…s-so sorry, 'Manda. You didn't deserve any of that. _Please believe me._ You were a _child._ You had no control over the vicious abuse that happened to you…and I know you hate to think of yourself as a victim…but in this situation, you were…you are, honey. I hope you come to know that someday soon."

"I think I'm done talking for tonight, Liv," Amanda weakly mutters, before she plops back down onto the couch and feels her eyes growing heavy with exhaustion. Olivia nods her head in agreement, feeling totally overcome with emotion herself, and resorts to tracing her fingers through Amanda's undone hair.

"Did you eat anything today? Olivia whispers into the blonde's ear, "I can order us some food," she continues, peppering the blonde crown with light kisses.

"I'm not hungry, Liv. I'm sorry," Amanda faintly replies, before she sinks deeper into the older woman's embrace, and is sucked into the depths of unconsciousness.


	13. Chapter 13

_A/N: Hi friends! I'm so sorry for not updating this story in so long; I was going through finals, and hit some major writer's block, but now, the semester is officially over and I feel like I'm out of the woods! Thank you all for being so patient, and I hope you enjoy this chapter. It picks up right where we left off. MAJOR MAJOR trigger warning for detailed mentions of rape, abuse, and suicide!_

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Amanda Rollins can't remember the last time she actually slept through the night.

Tonight is no different. After jolting awake in terror, due to being plagued by another nightmare, the blonde detective finds herself gasping in response to both the fear of her recent subconscious torture, and the fact that she is currently wrapped inside of the arms of her boss. It takes her a moment to recollect the events of the past couple of days, and to remember that she had asked Olivia to come over and comfort her while she was in the midst of yet another panic attack.

This realization causes Amanda to feel a tinge of guilt; slowly dissipating as she tilts her head up and gazes at her boss, who seems to be resting comfortably, despite the fact that they've both fallen asleep while sitting mostly upright on her couch. The younger woman squints her eyes to peer over toward the clock sitting on top of her counter, and is shocked to realize that it is already 2:30 in the morning. As she exhales a lengthy sigh, she is reminded of learning in her Police Psychology course that REM sleep is essential to memory and retaining information. At this rate, she thinks, she's lucky to even remember her own name.

"Fucking...nightmares..." Amanda whispers out loud to herself, cautious not to wake Olivia, or Frannie, who is slumbering peacefully in the middle of the living room. She feels the all-too-familiar anxiety rapidly starting to simmer in her core; her chest rapidly rising and falling, her throat constricting in defense. "Fuck this," she confirms with the nod of her head. Desperate to distract herself, Amanda takes another moment to bask in the impossible beauty of her current situation by averting her gaze up toward Olivia.

Despite the fact that she still feels embarrassed and vulnerable, Amanda can't help but notice how gorgeous the older brunette looks right now: brown strands of soft hair falling out of her loose bun; dark eyelashes that reach well past underneath her eyes because they're so long, and her lips, _god, her lips,_ she thinks, so pink and plump, half-split apart by spontaneous, light snores. Amanda smirks with the knowledge that she is safe; the only sounds she can hear in this moment are the snores – a reminder that Olivia Benson is sleeping beside her, alive and well – and the faint sound of crickets seeping beneath the patio door of her apartment.

As the blonde begins to drift back off into sleep, the crickets start to grow louder. They are growing so audible, Amanda mentally considers hopping off of the couch to make sure her patio door is actually shut all of the way. The chirping grows so loud, she can picture the insects rubbing their hundreds of tiny, hairy hands together. Instantaneously, Amanda physically jumps in response to getting bit on her leg by what must be a mosquito; she only lets out a soft whimper, still cautious not to wake Olivia.

 _Do NOT wake Olivia,_ she internally repeats, as she rubs the ailment on her skin.

Suddenly, Amanda is alone.

"Liv?" she calls out, both petrified and puzzled by her solitude.

Instead of an answer from her boss, and the familiar feeling of soft cushions underneath her body, Amanda feels sharp blades of grass poking at her bottom, and she is suddenly freezing. Confused, she looks up, and instead of her ceiling, she sees a clear, night sky, littered with stars and the glow of the moon. Normally, this sight would calm her, but something feels off. A slew of distorted, panicked thoughts blow right through her mind: _did I get drunk again? Am I blacked out? Where am I? What's happening?_

"L...Liv?! Where are you?" she begs in the tone of broken sobs.

A deep, masculine-sounding voice answers her plea. "Lookin' for your girlfriend, Mandy?"

The blonde's eyes widen as much as physically possible when she realizes that her _father_ is the one answering her. He is standing confidently in front of her; arms crossed, in a pair of dirty jeans, a flannel shirt, and a pair of oversized work boots. Behind him is her old house; somehow, she realizes, she has travelled back to Georgia in the midst of nothing but a few short minutes. She is somehow sitting in the middle of their dark front yard in nothing but a pair of shorts and a tank top, stargazing, just like she used to do when she was a teenager and couldn't sleep.

"I always knew you were a dyke," he chuckles, "too bad you don't have a man to save you now. Come to daddy, baby." Amanda can't help but gasp in response, and despite the many years she's had in the police force, all she can do is curl up into a quivering ball on the sharp, damp grass. "This isn't real...this isn't real...this isn't real..." she quietly repeats, desperate to convince herself that she is right.

"Oh it's real, Mandy. Thought you could get away from me, you little slut?"

" _This isn't real._ You're dead, you piece of shit. You hung yourself..." she chokes out, "and it's what you deserved."

Shortly thereafter, Amanda regrets her last words, as her father is lunging toward her in a manic fury. She immediately shrieks, and her "fight or flight" response kicks in as scrambles to get herself up off of the ground, and to run away, far away from the man who has terrified her for the majority of her life, as quickly as possible.

She can't run fast enough, though, and is quaking in fear as she is kicked in the back of the shins by muddy, wet work boots, and topples to the ground. He pins her arms into the, earth's mushy surface, and looks her dead in the eye with a gaze and a smirk that screams "pure evil." Thus, her "fight" response is quickly activated, and she does everything in her power to get him off of her. She is kicking, screaming, and flailing her arms underneath his vile grip to get the hell away from him. She hates herself for being so scared, but she is in so much pain, and all she wants is to be cuddled back up on her couch alongside Olivia Benson. _Olivia Benson, Olivia Benson, Olivia Benson,_ she mentally repeats so many times that it resembles a mantra. "Livvvvv," she mutters aloud, invoking her name like a prayer, as she feels her daddy's chubby, rough fingers slip aside her tiny shorts.

"Sorry, baby, but you know she can't give you what I can give you," he replies with a smile. Amanda retorts by spitting in his face, but this only makes him angrier. He reaches a hand above his head with a giggle and smacks her dead in the face. Although she is blinded by tears and denial, Amanda is careful not to make him any angrier than he already is. She decides to just let him have his way with her. As soon as she feels him slip inside of her, she immediately dissociates, and her mind is flooded with the images, the sounds, and the smells, of her beloved casino. As he thrusts and pumps with all of his might, she sees the bright lights; she can smell her boozy, smoky fellows; she can feel the poker chips in between her fingers.

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"'Manda! 'Manda! Wake up! Please! Honey, you're scaring me!

Detective Amanda Rollins is brought out of her flashback by the sound of Olivia's screams. "W-what? What happened? Where am I?" the younger woman queries, shaking her head and scrubbing her clammy hands over her face as she tries to get ahold of herself.

"'Manda, honey, it's me...it's Liv. You're at home. I'm here. You're safe. You were screaming and shaking...but your eyes –"

"Honey, I think you were having a flashback."

Amanda looks up at Olivia, dazed and confused; although she doesn't speak a word, her glassy eyes are begging for help. Olivia hesitantly gathers the younger woman up in her strong arms, and tucks the lingering strands of blonde hair behind her ears. "Shhh," Olivia hushes, "you're safe with me."

Shaking her head, Amanda states, "L-Liv...where am I? Is he here? He hurt me..."

"Who, honey? Is who here? It's just you, me, and Frannie."

"Daddy...here was here...or...I was there..."

"Amanda. Your father is dead. You were having a flashback."

"Liv...it wasn't...that...I don't...I don't even remember what he did to me," she chokes out with a stifled sob.

"'Manda," the older woman soothes, "sometimes pain...sometimes...flashbacks...aren't always linear."

"Oh, Liv," Amanda continues with a light cough, "what the fuck is wrong with me?"

"Nothing is wrong with you, sweetheart. You're just hurting..." Olivia continues, "you're absolutely perfect."

Amanda takes awhile to gather her bearings; only finding comfort when she finally manages enough courage to look Olivia in the eyes.

"I'm...so sorry 'bout that, Liv. You were so nice to come over here, and I couldn't even let you sleep."

"Amanda..." Olivia hushes, ready to explain to the younger woman just how wrong she is, before she is interrupted by a weak, sad voice.

"You know...when you get sober, they…the people at meetings…they tell you that your life is going to be better without gambling," she sighs. "But the bad stuff still happens. And you have nothing to numb it. My brain, Liv…my brain…" she exhales as she cups her hands around her head. "Son of a bitch…Liv…I'm really scared I might actually be a bad person."

"Amanda, Olivia lightly chastises, "if you were a bad person…you wouldn't be scared about it. Come here," she concludes, as she inches closer toward the shaking figure on the couch.

The blonde scrubs her hand over her face and tucks more hair behind her ears as she pulls away from her superior. "I really fuckin' hate feelings."

Olivia tries her best to interject, but is again cut short by Amanda's low voice.

"The only feelings I don't hate are the ones I have for you, Olivia Benson."


	14. Chapter 14

_A/N: Hello all! It's been awhile, but I haven't given up on this story! I apologize for the long wait between chapters...but here is Ch. 14, finally! I feel as though this story is coming to an end soon; I want to write more one-shots with more creative storylines, and I also plan to write some fanfic for other shows in the near future. Thank you all for being so loyal!_

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 _Amanda. Rollins. Has. Feelings. For. Me?_ Olivia Benson is absolutely beside herself, and repeats this statement over and over in her head for countless minutes. Currently, she's at Amanda's house, with her subodinate cuddled up in her lap, in the middle of the night; mentally, she's a million miles away, in a place where she doesn't have to be confused about her feelings for this beautiful, soft, stubborn woman she's just recently begun to form a real friendship with. Although she's having trouble grasping it, there is no doubt in Olivia's mind that Amanda Rollins has just gone beyond that friendship to confess romantic feelings for her – even though she wasn't totally clear. Luckily, Olivia has fostered the habit of talking herself off the ledge, so to speak, and get herself out from inside her head. _She's being as clear as she possibly can, Liv, as clear as she can be..._

Olivia Benson has only recently come to realize her own romantic feelings she holds for the detective – feelings that teeter way beyond friendship – yet she can't begin to even wrap her head around the fact that the feelings are mutual. Feeling scared, unworthy, and more confused than she ever has in her life, Olivia silently curses the continuous and passionate knocking of her heart against her ribcage, as she glares down into the mess of blonde hair swimming in her lap. Her palms are sweaty, and the all-too-familiar bile she's grown accustomed to lately begins to collect in the back of her throat, yet again.

"Amanda…" the lieutenant finally manages to utter, as she swallows an unpleasant taste. "What kind of feelings do you have for me?"

"Ha," Amanda sleepily chuckles, digging the back of her skull into Olivia's pelvic region. "Like you don't already know, Liv."

Though Olivia is beyond tired, and now a little turned on, she can't help but encourage the detective's vagueness.

"I _don't_ know, Amanda. Please, enlighten me."

Amanda sighs, feeling both exasperated and a little nervous that she's the one who has to say it first. She sits up from between the lieutenant's legs, wraps her hair into a messy bun, grabs Olivia's moist hands, and looks her right in the eye. "I don't do labels, Liv. I like who I like; I fuck who I fuck. Believe it or not, I've never been one for rules."

"Yeah..." Olivia whispers, staring off into nothingness, grounded only by the physical tug of Amanda's freezing cold fingers wrapped in hers. "I believe that."

The brunette's mind quickly flashes back to the time Babs Duffy kissed her, and how it made her feel. She physically shutters with a little disgust, a little excitement, before speaking her truth.

"I...'Manda...I- I don't know. I've never even kissed a woman willingly before."

"Wait," the blonde interjects, eyes widening into big blue circles, hands escaping from the surprisingly tight grasp of her superior to form a point with her index finger. "You've kissed a woman before?"

Olivia rolls her eyes and hangs her head in shame. "She kissed me. I didn't really want...it..." she adamantly declares, clearing her throat. "I didn't really want her." This is getting too uncomfortable, but Olivia reminds herself that Amanda has just opened herself up to her in the most intimate of ways: after a flashback. Deep breaths.

"Let me show you what it's like to kiss someone you want," Amanda replies so confidently, she's even a bit surprised herself.

Olivia responds viscerally with a jump. She is certain her heart rate can't possibly be below two-hundred beats per minute at this point; she attempts to subtly check her pulse by wringing her right hand around her left wrist - like she's giving her joints a massage. Amanda stares at her, smiling, blue boring into brown. To relieve the dryness that has taken up residence in her mouth, Olivia swirls her tongue around inside of her mouth before she speaks.

"Honey, no," the brunette states defeatedly, physically shaking her head. "You just woke up...and it's the middle of the night...you...you just had a terrible flashback." Although it sounds reasonable, Olivia knows she's actually failing quite miserably to justify something that should have happened years ago. She wonders if she should continue to rationalize, unable to look Amanda in the face; instead, she peers up toward the corner of the ceiling, where the strong rays of moonlight are spilling into the living room, illuminating the cobwebs hanging from the top of the apartment. "I'd just be taking advantage of you. Come here. Just let me hold you."

Amanda's eyes fly open in rebuttal.

"Liv!" Amanda screeches, as she inches closer to the lieutenant, who is glistening with perspiration. "I've been waitin' a long time for this. Seven years, to be exact. I don't know if it's everythin' that's happened lately that's making me not give a shit...you know how death does that...life's too short and all...or, if it's because you've shown me lately just how much you care about me. But I like you, Olivia. I really, really like you. Please don't let me bein' a chick ruin this."

"Amanda," Olivia chastises with a giggle, "it's not just your gender. I'm your boss. Can you even imagine what would happen if people found out about us?" "Us," she repeats. "I mean, can you even imagine what people would think if they found out I even stayed the night here? I'm supposed to act like a professional."

Amanda releases a ragged breath. "Fuck people. Fuck anyone else but you, Liv. Sorry, but that's how I feel."

Frannie has now jolted awake, and seems to sense her mother's distress. She leaps up into Amanda's lap, and consequently jabs her slightly-overgrown claws into her owner's bare leg, which causes Amanda to let out a light yelp in pain. "Frannie Mae!" Amanda screeches, as Olivia instinctively jumps to rub the injured area on her hurting friend. "Baby girl..." Amanda continues, eyes glued on Frannie. "Ouch...mama's been slacking with clipping your nails, hasn't she?" Amanda can't help but let the smile that has been tugging at her lips bloom, resolutely glowing that Olivia Benson's hand is caressing her bare thigh.

"Do you remember the one time we acted as a couple at that sperm bank?" Olivia asks, frantically pulling her hand away once she realizes what she's doing, in an attempt to break the tension.

"Haha!" Amanda laughs, feeling a little relieved herself that the sexual tension has disapated. "I do, Liv. That was fun."

"It was more than just fun to me, 'Manda." Olivia sighs, the truth building up inside of her chest, threatening to explode. "I really thought about it, for so long afterward. Actually, I don't think there's a day that goes by where I don't see us there, hand-in-hand, acting. I could see myself really doing that with you, 'Manda. I had to push those feelings down, because I wasn't ready to take a look at them but...now...Amanda...I really think that I want something like that with you." She clears her throat. "I want you."

Amanda cannot contain her joy. It seems as though any memory of the flashback she experienced just minutes ago has vanished into thin air - all the pain of her childhood, her father, her addiction - everything, simply gone - all thanks to Olivia Margaret Benson.

And finally, after all of this time, after seven damn years, Olivia steps outside of her comfort zone to really look into Amanda's eyes for what seems like the first time ever. Murky, mottled brown, juts into soft, hopeful blue. Olivia returns her trembling fingers to Amanda's inflamed thigh, and begins to rub the sore again.

Amanda involuntarily gasps as Olivia's fingers dance.

Olivia inhales as she leans her body forward.

And she kisses her.

And the world stops.


End file.
